


Will You Be My Prince?

by calikitten



Series: I'm in Love [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Hannibal, But is it really fake?, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings, First Kiss, First Time, Hannibal Big Bang, Hannibal Loves Will, Jealous Will, Love, M/M, Operas, POV Will Graham, Paris (City), Possessive Will, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Scars, Semi-Public Sex, Suits, Tenderness, Top Will, Will Loves Hannibal, implied murder husbands, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calikitten/pseuds/calikitten
Summary: Post Season-3.
After the fall, Will thought he and Hannibal had settled into a standstill of safe domesticity living together in Paris until Hannibal had asked him to come to the opera with him, posing as his husband, which was just a cover, another part for them to play. A quite reasonable cover that Will should not be concerned about. It should not feel this real, this needed, and Will should not be so protective of the idea of it. Of him. 
But all Will can feel is a resounding ache in his bones, Bedelia’s words echoing in the halls of his mind, every small action of Hannibal’s loud in his ears.
Is Hannibal in love with me?Yes, but do you ache for him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettypurpleflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettypurpleflower/gifts).



> Hello! Thank you everyone for hosting this wonderful opportunity!  
> This is just my take on a possible post season 3. I mean, until season 4 of course!  
> I've had a lot of fun, and I hope you will enjoy the story. Thank you so much to prettypurpleflower for her absolutely beautiful artwork. I can't even believe how beautiful it is, and how much it means, I am unworthy of it.  
> Thank you so much!
> 
> Here is a link to the beautiful artwork made by prettypurpleflower:  
> [HERE](http://prettypurpleflower.tumblr.com/post/150732927994/the-time-for-the-nbchannibalbigbang-has-come)
> 
>  
> 
> And to her tumblr:  
> http://prettypurpleflower.tumblr.com/

 

The raised skin that ran a stark, crooked line across Will’s cheek was nearly a long soft bump to the touch now, no longer tender, though it still felt odd occasionally as it stretched across his face or if he ran his tongue along it from the inside of his mouth. He had gotten used to that and it was healed, better than expected, still. He had plenty of other scars, a plethora even, from various places, a few on his shoulders and chest visible to him now as he looked in the still slightly steamed bathroom mirror.

This one was ugly though and Will ran his finger along it as he observed it quietly, a ritual that occurred more often that perhaps it should.

It wasn’t that the scar looked fascinating. It was neither pretty nor glamorous. Will never care much particularly for his appearance, more practicality in his clothing aside from any attempts to use it psychologically, to fit in or to manipulate expectations; he was not good with that skill, though Hannibal had mastered it. Will often sported many bags under his eyes to add to such an image. He wasn’t vain. His face was his face, neither appalling nor striking.

But this scar was obvious and visible. It drew attention he didn’t want, and it _was_ ugly.

That wasn’t all of it either, why he stood there every time he was in the bathroom to stare at it, as if looking distantly onto the face of someone he wasn’t used to seeing.

It was a permanent memory, as if he wouldn’t remember the moment otherwise, as if it wasn’t etched into the back of his corneas and in the shadows of his dreams, and needed to be branded into his face, the forefront of his appearance. That was what caused him to stand there longer than he should.

He thought of it, images in feelings rushing through his mind, down through his veins, pumping as they had when he’d dug the knife from his face, pain sharp… Then the pain was distant, not important enough when he was stabbed again, then when he drove the knife back in Dolarhyde to free Hannibal nothing mattered but that, the deadly dance they had choreographed together, every move synchronized. He felt the adrenaline in his blood then as he remembered it, and the way his knife dug into the dragon’s flesh, tearing out his insides as Hannibal had ripped out his throat with his bare teeth.

Then the moment after, exhilaration, freedom, the moment of clarity in which he knew who he was, he knew who Hannibal was, what they had been, what they could be together. _See_ what Hannibal had asked of him and, oh, he _saw_ , he saw it all and felt it all. He saw the sparkle in Hannibal’s eyes, the expression in his face that gave too much, the blood, beautifully black under the moon, drying on the man’s lips, that Will would have—he _wanted_ to, to taste. He had _wanted_. Though he didn’t. He knew what he would have chosen then, if he had, how easily he would have given in entirely. He’d only held on so tightly, anchored to the man as Hannibal had told him it was all he’d ever wanted.

_It’s beautiful._

And, yes, it was, they were, _Hannibal_ was.

No other moment had been so much. Will had never spoken so truthfully, had never reached out for Hannibal’s touch, to embrace him in that glory.

And then Will had plunged them both into the sea for fate to decide if they lived. Though perhaps Hannibal had decided. He was as much of a force of nature as nature was, more-so than anything else Will knew, at least.

Nearly startled from his recollection, he could hear the distant click of the door unlocking, opening, and then quiet footfalls. Hannibal.

He had gone out, to shop presumably, as he’d informed Will what they’d been out of in the fridge beforehand. Bread, milk, spices, along with whatever else Hannibal deemed desirable to cook with. Will thought Hannibal enjoyed Paris, the culture, the sights, but especially the food. Will could appreciate some of that, too, though not to the direct extent Hannibal could.

Will took his hand away from his face, unconsciously moving it down and tracing across the scar on his stomach Hannibal had given him at the thought of the man, a scar long healed, and even long declared forgiven, though it still remained there.

Taking up his toothbrush from a cup next to Hannibal’s, he squirted toothpaste over it to brush his teeth, hearing the fridge open distantly.

He had just started to pat down his wildly damp hair to no avail, and imagined that he would go and politely attempt to ask Hannibal how his shopping had gone, when a distant inquiry interrupted him, as if searching for him.

“Will?”

He seemed done with the kitchen far too early, his voice closer than that, even if it seemed to be spoken more quietly than it should. “I’m coming.” Calling out, Will quickly tied a towel around his waist securely, finding his way out of the bathroom and looking down the hallway.

He found Hannibal in the man’s bedroom, standing beside the large plush, blue-sheeted bed with a few bags laid out at the foot of it, clothing, likely suits, laid out on the bed in protective wrappings. Apparently Hannibal had not just gone shopping for food. Will realized just then that it had been a while since Hannibal had left. The man himself was dressed in a beige sweater, something more casual he adopted around the house, when he was not at some event requiring something else. It made him appear softer, more human in that way as Will had come to know in the past few months. It separated their current life with its current of odd almost-domesticity from the time before it.

Will hovered in the doorway. “I was just in the shower,” he felt the need to explain, his brow furrowing only slightly as he watched Hannibal’s attention move from the clothing over to take in Will. “How was it today… shopping?” Such polite and distant conversation felt like Will’s only defense now, never really talking to each other about much, words that could be said always seeming to hang around heavily between them and in the back of Will’s head.

“It was quite nice,” Hannibal replied simply, his eyes reaching Will’s face and focusing there determinedly, releasing a breath from parted lips, seeming almost uncharacteristically uncertain in a way that left Will feeling even more uncertain. “Will you come in?”

He hadn’t spent much time in Hannibal’s bedroom since they’d first scoped out the house to purchase it. It spoke of comfortable luxury, just as Will’s room did, just as the rest of the space did, though certainly not as much as Hannibal’s house had in Baltimore, another difference that settled over both of them in this new life. Still, this was Hannibal’s private space and Will felt oddly vulnerable, especially with only his towel to cover him as he entered Hannibal’s room to walk over by the bed. He'd both been seen by Hannibal and seen Hannibal in less clothing when they'd tended each other's wounds, but this seemed different, in Hannibal's space.

“I thought you might like to join me at the opera this evening.”

Will blinked at him, confused, not expecting that at all.

“Perhaps you would enjoy the show with me?” Hannibal continued to explain when Will didn’t respond after a moment, his gaze seemingly unreadable as he looked at Will, awaiting his response.

“Ah…” Will found his voice eventually. “I don’t really… I’ve never been to anything like that before. I’m not sure I’d fit there, with everyone else…” There seemed to be many reasons why not, socializing being one, his appearance another.

“I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.” He settled upon that easy excuse.

Hannibal gestured to the bed. “I have acquired us matching suits already...”

Will turned to notice the clothing in more detail for the first time, the one laid out in front of him a dark blue that was nearly black, on the other side of the bed a maroon colored jacket along with its clothing set as the other had: the slacks, shirt, and vest. Will touched the plastic over the darker suit, reaching under it to feel the soft fabric, almost a silky texture. Even one of these was likely more expensive than Will’s entire wardrobe, Will’s car even.

That was very perceptive of Hannibal, as if he's known Will's excuse beforehand. It was also very thoughtful.

“Of course you have,” Will determined.

“That one is yours.”

Will glanced to the darker suit another time with a long breath, releasing it and turning his gaze back to Hannibal, moving his hand away from the suit.

“It’s a beautiful suit, Hannibal… I’m not opposed to the idea, but…” The entire idea set his nerves alight and tingling in ways and for reasons he could not name, and he felt as though he was grasping at straws, even if valid ones, for excuses, holding onto the simplicity of what they currently shared even if it was not what he desired. “The suit isn't everything, I mean—” Will gestured to his face as if that encompassed it, the scar he had just been examining there. “There’s that not exactly attractive or hidden feature, and… I don’t particularly fit the part, the crowd, the socializing...”

His French was passable, as it had become, something he’d studied briefly in high school and had learned here, which was a benefit, even if that didn’t mean he would talk with the crowd well. He wasn’t high profile (even if he was high profile on the FBI’s most wanted list) nor did he fit in with the high class crowd, to fit in with the people Hannibal surely talked with—had been talking with when he went to the Opera here on other occasions. Will was from Louisiana, and even if he would only be playing a part with Hannibal as they had been, it would be different, an unfitting shell he couldn’t imagine placing himself in. He’d played a part before, to deceive Hannibal, though now he was not certain that was ever fully playing a part, rather than a true part of himself. The concept of how much of that part had been real or not bled into each other until it had become the same, until it was Will.

Hannibal nodded, his gaze roving over Will’s face. “I… disagree partly,” he started, as Will watched him lick his lips thoughtfully before continuing. “I believe that the suit would fit you well as the part and I would get you through the rest as best as I could. I am aware that you would not be comfortable with the social aspect, so after you are… introduced, I thought we could escape from the crowd. I’d thought we could have a private compartment, a balcony…”

Hannibal shifted, his own hand resting along the side of his bed, and Will might name it nervously hopeful, had the gesture and the tone been on anyone but Hannibal. “I have told the people that will be attending that I might bring my husband along.”

_Husband_.

The word echoed through Will’s mind.

“Oh.” It was difficult to find his voice, suddenly feeling his throat, his chest, constricting. Perhaps he should have expected this, and in some way he thought he might have expected it at some point before this, when Hannibal had invited him to the opera.

“You want me to be your…. husband?” He should not have phrased it that way.

Hannibal blinked and took in a breath. “Yes,” he replied, and Will could almost imagine that it wasn’t this situation, that Hannibal wasn’t asking him for this fake identity, and that he might be affirming something else.

“The subject had come up,” Hannibal seemed to feel the need to continue saying. “This was what came to mind, and it seemed appropriate.”

“The subject?” It wasn’t quite an accusation from Will, mostly due to the surprising softness he found in his tone.

“The subject of significant others,” Hannibal clarified after a moment. “It was discussed and once they had thought they might want to set me up with various candidates, I thought it would be best to declare I might bring my husband, especially as I thought… you might like to accompany me.”

That story mostly seemed to make sense to Will, perhaps more sense than it should have.

Will tried to speak without giving everything away, thoughts rolling around his mind. “You wouldn’t want to… be set up with any of them?” The idea was as unpleasant to Will as he found the idea was of the two of them pretending they were something else instead, brothers perhaps, which they could prevent to be. They were decidedly not.

Hannibal’s brow furrowed the slightest and he shook his head immediately, as if surprised by Will’s question. “No, I would not.”

“Ah… Good, I would not… either,” he replied uncertainly, before he trailed off into silence.

Hannibal took a breath, as nervous as Will felt, reassuring while at the same time further inciting Will’s nerves. He tilted his head at Will as he regarded him, as if trying to gauge his reaction, trying to reach whatever enigma Will might hold that he himself might not know.

Uncertainty claimed Hannibal’s face in a foreign manner, in his brow and in the way that his fingers were still resting on the bed sheets, as if he might be stripped as bare as Will was in only his towel. “If it makes you uncomfortable, Will…” he attempted, “We do not need to go. It is good for you to have a nice suit either way.”

Will shook his head. “You love the opera, and _you_ should go.” He wasn’t going to stop Hannibal from going.

“I have been to the opera many times before, Will, even after we arrived here, plenty more than I need in a lifetime,” Hannibal continued, daring to look into Will’s gaze, his brown eyes dark and warm. It was a comforting darkness that fit in Will’s brain far too much like a feeling of belonging, home. “It may seem, ah… impulsive, though, I only wished to share it with you now.”

Will thought about it then, how close they had grown, and yet how far away they seemed to be from each other. They’d shared much intimacy in healing each other’s wounds, touching and bandaging each other bare, though still something for the purpose of healing, Hannibal’s hands as careful as a surgeon’s and Will’s doing his best, even if they’d lingered and slept near each other. Now, though they did each other’s laundry, shared a house, chores, groceries, space so domestically together...now they seemed so far apart, not as it was during the first few intimate weeks before they’d come to Paris. Easy domesticity had become just that, easy, though Will wondered if it could be called that when it seemed just a few steps further away from it. Too much was unspoken between them, neither brave enough to bridge a gap or move drastically.

Bedelia’s words were most prevalent to Will. They burned through his bones and made a home there, crawling inside Will and never leaving his mind, always there, in every moment since then, in the back of his head as if they were a puzzle piece, trying to connect to reality and to explain. They seemed impossible, unlikely, something he’d never thought could be, and yet…. and yet…

_Is Hannibal in love with me?_

He could see it now, burning in Will’s mind more than ever. This was breaking whatever unsettling comfort they had slipped into, asking Will to go with Hannibal, for them to go as _husbands_ , even with a façade of cover identities, when it didn’t make sense to go any other way, with how well they knew each other. Then there was Hannibal looking at him now with a small hope, expectant, a lightly visible uncertainty, which Will would know better than anyone who’d try to read him. He’d already bought a suit for Will, had already decided that they would be married there before even asking Will the night of the event. Will already had the answer to Bedelia’s question from her, though he’d yet to hear it from Hannibal, what he was seeing…maybe, perhaps…

Will’s insides clawed at him like they were trying to escape him, his thoughts and emotions conflicting and wild. He would laugh now at Bedelia if she’d asked him again if he too had ached.

Hannibal still waited for an answer, waited for Will to _decline_ him, to reject him, and for them to go back to the domestic, comfortable, and yet endless space of being not enough, being uncertain, so many things still unsaid.

Will could safely decline or take the step over that cliff.

He supposed he’d already had experience taking the cliff, only where Hannibal was involved.

After Hannibal allowed him to ponder a moment, Will nodded. “Alright,” he agreed, watching Hannibal take in his agreement. “If you talk most of the time, I’ll hang on your arm. I don’t know how much of arm candy I will make by this time anymore, however. You’ll have to do that work yourself.”

Hannibal seemed relieved to release a small breath of a chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll do it fine, Will,” he sought to assure him. “Perhaps you will like it.”

“Perhaps I might,” Will agreed. He didn’t know if he was referring to hanging on Hannibal or the show.

He turned his attention back to the suit then, remembering his lack of dress. “Are there required underwear to accompany these, or may I use my own?”

Hannibal looked over at the bed with Will. “Of course you may use your own.”

Nodding, and without another word, Will slid from Hannibal’s bedroom, a bit glad for some space to himself, if only for a moment, digesting what he was agreeing to, what would happen at the opera, how they’d need to _act_ married, and what that entailed. The thought brought waves of something like nerves bubbling in his stomach.

He slipped on a pair of silk boxer briefs, wonderfully soft. He’d bought them with Hannibal, now used to them, even if at first skeptical of underwear less simple than cheap cotton with potential holes after repeated use.

He took a few measured breaths to no avail, eventually resolving to return to Hannibal’s bedroom.

When he arrived, the other man was undressing, shirtless and pulling down his pants. Will had seen him such a way many times before as they healed, changing Hannibal’s bandages and even washing him, though it had been a while since then. That had been when they were both clutching to each other and healing, bodies struggling and sick. Now, Will’s eyes roved over his healed scars. The brand on his back was still visible and large, skin pulled and peeled, likely uncomfortable if it stretched. Still there were a few scars over his chest as Will saw from an angle, from rocks and impacts, and the bullet wound on his stomach, having left an ugly scar, though now healed over, even given Will’s lack of stitching mastery. More weight and muscle gathered in his body too, lean muscles returned as his health allowed him to and soft stomach visible from enjoying French cuisine. Will had thought the same had happened to his body, healthier with Hannibal than he had been alone, walking in the outskirts of town regularly to get fresh air and never again missing a meal.

He fought suddenly with an odd desire to touch every visible scar, standing too long in the doorway debating his own entering, to dress with Hannibal or not, though eventually he stepped inside again.

Hannibal looked up as Will moved behind him, not saying anything on it if he’d noticed Will staring at him. Will became aware that ever scar he had was just as vulnerable to Hannibal then. The moment as he stood by Hannibal seemed more intimate than anything they’d shared in a long while, the space between them visible and the scars they’d wrought upon each other in the past open.

“The last suit I wore was one I only used in funerals or in court,” Will commented, feeling a need to fill the space as Hannibal was removing the plastic from the clothing. He’d worn it in his own trial and at Hannibal’s, painful memories from a distant previous life. “Nothing like this.”

“Even if you do not end up enjoying the opera on this occasion, it is good to have one in case such an occasion arises that you may need it, especially in a place such as Paris,” Hannibal replied, taking up the pants for himself to slide them on, fitting easy.

“Mhm… I suppose,” Will murmured in response, reaching for his own dark slacks, surprised again by their silky texture as he examined them, running his fingers along the fabric a moment.

“French silk,” Hannibal informed, as he noticed Will’s attention to the fabric.

“It’s very nice… soft.” Will slid the pants on, surprised to find them fitting snugly around his legs and his waist, not any extra baggy fabric as many of his old clothes often had, and yet quite comfortable, not suffocating. Surely Hannibal must not have approved of his baggy clothing. Will chuckled to himself, finding humor even if the undercurrent of the situation still teased at the air between them with tension. “I won’t ask how you got my measurements or estimated them, as I’m not sure I’d like to know the details, but you did it very well.” It wasn’t particularly surprising either.

“I estimated them,” Hannibal replied anyway, and Will caught the other man looking over at him before he turned too soon back to his own dress shirt. “I’m glad that they fit you well.”

As they dressed, and the silence was then only permeated by smooth movements of fabric, Will couldn’t help but glance over at Hannibal himself, watching the way he dressed carefully and precisely, buttoning his shirt with careful fingers and sliding on his darker colored vest in familiar movements, entrancing. Will could imagine him doing this every morning of his old life, dressing in front of some mirror like a habit, likely comforting in familiarity as he donned his person’s suit. It would be like that now if Will wasn’t watching him carefully, if Will couldn’t tell Hannibal knew eyes were watching him, occasionally breaths too quiet or the slight movement in his jaw betraying something like uncertainty, tells likely lost on anyone but Will. It was assuring to know this, that what stood between them on this night and this moment caused Hannibal this slight lapse in assurance, and at the same time, it only brought a lump in Will’s throat that he swallowed down. Even so, Will sought to copy his skilled movements with less practiced ease in order to button his shirt and tuck it in, getting his vest secure too. This, too, fit snugly like he wasn’t used to, but the fabric was soft on his skin, not uncomfortable.

He saw Hannibal reach for a bowtie, and before Will could speak, it seemed Hannibal already knew what he would say. “Have you ever tied one before?” Hannibal’s eyes trained on Will’s, warm brown and too open as they regarded Will, expecting his answer.

Will met his gaze and shook his head. “No, only standard ties, I’m afraid.” He hadn’t the occasion for one otherwise.

Hannibal nodded, and after a beat, offered as expected, “I can tie it for you, if you’d like. It is not difficult once you learn it.”

“Thank you,” Will had to agree and watched as Hannibal’s fingers smoothed out the long slim fabric for too long of a moment before he took a single step closer, both of them already close at the foot of the bed.

Will fought an urge to hold his breath, instead breathing a small sound of surprise as Hannibal’s face came so close and his hands reached out unexpectedly, where Will had expected the fabric of the bowtie, in order to touch Will’s collar. It caused Hannibal to pause for only a short moment before they started to smooth the collar upwards. Of course that was needed, but it seemed Will had forgotten it. Hannibal’s hands were gentle though and almost too delicately careful, even if they occasionally brushed against Will’s neck, radiating warmth even through the fabric.

Soon the fabric was looped over Will’s neck and Hannibal took either end in his hands. The doctor’s gaze seemed determined to focus on his task and nowhere else with an intensity, his eyes trained downwards at the bowtie as he started the loop to tie it, his lips slightly pursed, and it felt as if that gaze was burning into his skin even then. Will’s eyes focused on Hannibal’s concentrated features, apparently free to do so with Hannibal’s attention elsewhere, his own lips slightly parted as he tried to breathe evenly, feeling and hearing Hannibal’s warm breath.

“You did not learn this before prom?” Hannibal’s words were quiet and yet so close, the syllables low and gently accented as he maneuvered the fabric, brushing against Will’s throat slightly as he made a loop.

Will swallowed and he felt Hannibal’s fingers, impossibly, falter for a second before they continued, and Will might have examined that further had most else not been pushed away by proximity and warmth. “No, I just used a clip on.” Will was at least grateful for the conversation, though it could hardly distract him entirely. “I don’t think it worked well for me, honestly, with the cheap suit I rented… She left halfway through, anyway.”

Will thought that the moment they were in now felt all too much like his second awkward teenaged and hormone-filled attempt to get ready with a date for prom, bubbling nerves and all, that he almost chuckled aloud. It would be that if it weren’t for everything, if this didn’t mean that much. If they weren’t all each other had anymore, hadn’t crawled through each other’s minds and rearranged, made a home there permanently.

“Did she?” Hannibal replied, and his eyes looked up to Will for only a second to frown slightly, before he looked back to the knot he was working on. “That is quite rude.”

Will had to chuckle then at Hannibal’s words, though it was more of a breathy sound as Hannibal threaded his loop. “Well, there’s no need to be offended. I attempted to dance and made… quite a fool of myself. She stormed away when I knocked over the entire punch table… It was actually mortifying, I hated prom more than I had before.” He chuckled slightly again as Hannibal’s gaze met his, distracting them both with the embarrassing memory, relieving some nerves and yet causing more to ache as Hannibal smiled gently at him, as if less amused and more _endeared_.

“That’s unfortunate, though I suppose if she leaves you when you are undignified in such a way, then perhaps she would not benefit you anyway. A good dancing partner always assists their partner, movements belonging to both of them.”

They had seen each other in the most undignified manner, sick and bandaging each other, hanging between life and death for weeks. Will couldn’t help but think of Hannibal’s words in that way. “It’s alright, it was just a high school crush. I didn’t want to be there anyway, the music was terrible.”

Hannibal finally closed the tie around Will’s throat, finished with the knot and Will swallowed reflexively, the bowtie secure around his neck, not too tight, and yet Hannibal’s fingers, straightening it before smoothing his collar down weighted more, nearly suffocating his breathing.

“I hope you will enjoy the music tonight more then.” With a stray fixing of a wrinkle in Will’s vest at the shoulder, Hannibal looked up to Will’s eyes again. “It’s finished... Not too difficult, you see?” he remarked, as if Will had even been watching how Hannibal made the knot at all.

“Yes,” Will agreed nonetheless, still too close to the other man. “It wasn’t.”

Hannibal finally stepped away, leaving Will’s gut with an odd empty feeling as he took his own bowtie to wrap around his neck and start tying, his movements much easier there. Less distracted, the back of Will’s mind suggested, impossibly.

“It’s similar in this angle,” Hannibal said as Will’s eyes actually attempted to see the way the knot was done this time, though it was too quickly.

Will was about to move to grab his jacket next in order to distract himself, when he saw that Hannibal was already reaching for a bag on the floor and extracting two small velvet boxes, and suddenly, Will was certain that his heart rate had spiked significantly.

“Cufflinks first,” Hannibal said, and Will didn’t know whether he should be relieved or not when he opened one of the boxes to reveal two small diamonds in the box, simple but elegant, cufflinks as promised.

He held out his arm before Hannibal could say anything further, and he wordlessly took Will’s offered sleeve, affixing the object which Will honestly did not see the point in entirely, a simple decoration. Then again, the entire look was a mask, an image to be evoked and a character to inhabit, for them now more than anyone.

“Three carat diamonds,” Hannibal explained. Will had only gotten half of a carat for Molly.

It was less intimate than the tie even though he could still feel the warmth of Hannibal’s fingers, bringing up his other arm for the same treatment, watching Hannibal’s face again, the sharpness in his features and the softness hidden in his expression.

He’d attached his own easily while Will reached for his dark suit jacket again, admiring the color, so dark blue that it was closer to black, and he ran his fingers along sturdy folds before he put it on, smoothing down the front as best he could, buttoning the single button, fitting him snugly, as the rest had.

Hannibal putting on his own jacket and smoothing the edges, Will stepped over to the mirror to look at himself there, surprised as his reflection blinked back at him. It was himself as he’d seen in the mirror after his shower, though that person was different than the one before the fall. He stood straight and thought he looked _nearly_ elegant. _Almost_ looking the part with the expensive clothing, admittedly beautiful and suiting his skin and his eyes, fitting his form well, thanks to Hannibal. He could look a husband to cling onto at the opera, if it weren’t for the features of his face and the long scar, his hair still disarrayed from when he’d gotten out of the shower.

Will ran his hands through it to attempt to tame the slightly dampened curls as he felt Hannibal come up beside him in front of the mirror.

“It’s not that bad actually,” he told him, absently fiddling with his bowtie to straighten it. “I almost clean up well.”

He watched Hannibal’s face in the mirror as his eyes traced the lines of Will’s reflection, and Will suddenly felt more bare than he had in only his towel, the clothing that was meant to be armor having the opposite effect.

“You look… exceptionally beautiful, Will. Entirely so.” Hannibal told him, tone as soft as the silk of his clothing, and it would be as if he were admiring his favorite piece of art, had his gaze not been admiring Will just as softly before he ducked his head away from. “There’s no need to sell yourself short.”

“… As do you,” Will breathed quietly in return, and of course Hannibal did.

It reminded Will of how Hannibal looked before all this, the suit tailored and protecting him, hiding what was underneath his image of personality in expensive fabrics, scars and darkness and humanity, all of which Will knew too well. He fit the part perfectly though, elegant as he’d ever been as Will watched him smooth down his neatly combed hair, only a bit longer, a bit more grey hinting the strands, the only visible difference aside from a small line of a scar across his cheekbone and under his chin. Even as Will was reminded how much of the old Hannibal he looked like now, he seemed to only look more unlike him because of it. Changed, as they’d done to each other. As they’d hurt, forgiven and healed each other in another life.

“Thank you,” Hannibal murmured quietly after a beat of silence, both of them looking back in the mirror. “I could help you with your hair if you’d like, put it back, though I believe it suits you this way.”

Will ran his hand over his slight stubble, broken where his scar dipped into the area, thinking he might grow more of a beard sometime to hide it further. “I’d prefer to leave it this way,” Will agreed out of simplicity and the fact that he wasn’t certain he could handle Hannibal’s hands brushing through his hair.

He saw Hannibal nod and duck away and Will took a brush from the dresser and pushed his hair back slightly, just so it didn’t look as if he’d just rolled out of bed, neat enough as his face was already disfigured.

He turned to see Hannibal fidgeting with one of two, velvet boxes, the other resting on the bed.

Will felt his heart jump up into his throat and he swallowed, unable to dislodge the lump. Of course this would need to happen, they would need rings. Of course. Will had known it since Hannibal had said it, had been anticipating the event or rather ignoring it.

How else could they be married?

Hannibal turned to him as he still looked to the box, and Will’s fiddled with one of his sleeve ends, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands.

“I had picked them out for us, as seemed appropriate…”

Before Will had agreed to go to the opera.

Will nodded to assure Hannibal and moved up in front of him to look down at the box too.

Will could imagine this in other settings, Hannibal kneeling down in front of him upon the Eiffel tower, after a romantic dinner out in the city or in their own kitchen, and he wondered if Hannibal thought of those other scenarios too, ones unlike this one.

Then it was difficult to concentrate on those flashes of thought as Hannibal was kneeling then, right there in front of him, his knees bending.

The hesitation, _everything_ , couldn’t be more painfully clear in Hannibal’s face, as exposed and vulnerable to Will as he had been upon that cliff, his face open and raw as he glanced up at Will, and Will was unable to move, frozen as it was directed upon him.

In a split second, Hannibal faltered further as he must have found Will’s expression, his legs moving, almost about to raise himself back upwards as if he’d realized an error, not knowing if it could still be corrected.

No, no, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t an error.

Will moved and reached out, touching Hannibal’s shoulder and stopping him from his half-aborted attempt to stand up.

“It’s alright,” Will said, words sticking but trying to assure Hannibal even if he himself couldn’t breathe then, and it wasn’t alright.

Hannibal let out a long breath at the touch, settling back down on one knee, his eyes studying Will, seeming to see right through him.

He watched Hannibal open the ring box and then, it wasn’t anything like Will expected, hitting him in the chest with a sudden force.

It wasn’t encrusted with any diamonds, nor was it made of expensive gold or platinum with intricate designs, not extravagant in any manner, not for display, not one for posing as a husband at an Opera in Paris.

It was a simple silver band, shining and elegant perhaps, in its simplicity, practical. It wasn’t something Will expected Hannibal to choose. It seemed more like something Will himself might choose. Something that fit easily on the finger, able to be worn in and yet durable. Nothing too valuable that couldn’t be replaced if one lost it, but still something with meaning, to wear all the time, not just for the public.

This made it real even if it wasn’t. It was all _too_ real with that ring between Hannibal’s fingers. The _ache_ buried deep inside Will burned, alive and never stronger.

Will stared for a moment in Hannibal’s eyes, his lips parted in awe and question before Hannibal looked down again, and Will realized he must be expecting his hand.

Holding out his left hand after a moment, Hannibal took it gently in his own, handling it as if it were delicate thing worthy of being held. He smoothed out Will’s fingers, spreading them and then slipping the ring on his finger easily, a perfect fit.

It felt heavy on his finger and warm from Hannibal’s fingers as they lingered to observe it.

Will knew with clarity then that he didn’t want to take it off after this. He didn’t know if he could ever take it off.

His fingers curled slightly over Hannibal’s and he swallowed thickly before he spoke. “Thank you, Hannibal. It’s… it’s beautiful,” he decided.

He felt Hannibal breath out, curling his fingers over Will’s slightly in return. “It is.”

When Hannibal’s touch left his hand, and he moved to get back up on his feet, Will went to the bed to pick up the other velvet box, before Hannibal could take it. It wouldn’t feel right for him not to give it to Hannibal after the man had just knelt in front of him.

He opened the box in order to take out the ring, just the same as the other one, heavy and smooth between his fingers. When he looked up, Hannibal stood beside him.

“Come here,” Will spoke quietly and beckoned him closer and he obliged, taking another step towards Will.

Will reached out for Hannibal’s side to take his hand, holding it in front of him, slightly larger, long elegant fingers that Will observed as he simply felt them for a moment, running his fingers along the warm skin, memorizing it as he felt Hannibal’s soft breaths close to him.

He held Hannibal’s palm towards him and then moved to slide the ring onto the appropriate finger, staring down at his hand like that for too long of a time after that.

Too real.

“We will never be technically married.” The words were out before he could do anything about them, the thought voicing itself, even if it was unnecessary.

Hannibal’s eyes left their still touching hands in order to look at Will. “No, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham will never be legally married,” he agreed. “But that would just be a legal arrangement, a piece of paper.” One of Hannibal’s fingers fidgeted to brush against Will’s as he paused. “The commitment related to marriage is not found in legalities.”

That answer also was too real and Will swallowed as he simply stared at Hannibal for a moment.

“Practically, our aliases will be married legally as far as anyone knows,” Hannibal said quietly after the beat of silence, his jaw clenching slightly.

There it was then, their identities. It felt real and yet…

“I have identification for you.” Then Hannibal’s hand retracted and he moved back to his bags, extracting a wallet and then a card for Will.

Taking it, Will examined the name briefly. Alec Mikkelsen. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“I have been Andrius Mikkelsen,” Hannibal informed Will.

Will simply nodded, not wanting to say too much or too little, his thoughts still settling in his mind.

He watched distantly as Hannibal collected a few more things silently, putting away his wallet in his pocket and turning back to Will, straightening the end of his jacket.

Looking at him again, Will suddenly thought that he looked like his husband. He _was_ Alec’s husband.

“We should leave soon so we are not late, I would like to be there by six o’clock.”

Will watched him lead the way, moving to step after him so they could get to the car, his fingers rolling the ring around his finger, an absent gesture. The ring still felt heavy there, fitting too easily like it _belonged_.


	2. Chapter 2

“What sort of opera will it be?”

After they’d gotten in the car, the silence between them seemed almost suffocating for a few moments, and Will needed to say something, as apparently Hannibal had not been inclined to do so. It was odd for the situation though, as Hannibal often had words to fill the space with any of his musings that Will could catch onto, to make any conversation. The reversal left an odd tension in the air neither of them was willing to spark.

In the driver’s seat, Hannibal glanced over at his question, all upright posture and focus on the road that Will couldn’t help but read as more tension. Still, he didn’t falter in his answer at the topic.

“It is Achille et Polyxène, a tragedy of the triumph and subsequent downfall of Achilles in the Trojan battlefield.” Something tickled Will’s mind at that, a distant memory of Hannibal’s glowing office, of warmth and betrayal, his own flickering and torn loyalties. He couldn’t distinguish the memory between regret and warm comfort, Hannibal’s voice bringing him back to the present as he continued his exposition. “It is notable that his main purpose in war on the Greeks is Patroclus, though much of the play focuses on the tragedy and eventual suicide of his wife, Polixene. It is well known for somber music enclosing both the beginning and the conclusion, uncharacteristic to many similar operas.”

Will nodded then. “You seem to enjoy that particular story in many forms.”

He felt Hannibal’s hum of agreement. “And you might find yourself enjoying it as well. I was particularly awed by the opera house itself, the Palais Garnier, dating back through the 1800s, and it seems a privilege to be invited there, in a place of such history, still kept up and entertaining shows even now, as a true shame would be to deny it its original purpose. It is a reminder of a simpler time when such shows were commonplace, an elegant marvel to the eye, withholding great beauty.”

Will felt almost more out of place at Hannibal’s words, though a warmth blossomed in his gut, at the idea of being seen in such a place with Hannibal on his arm.

“I can’t help but wonder how I would fit in in such a marvelous monument.”

Hannibal had an answer for that too. “You were a professor at the university here, of psychology, recently arrived from America, though you acclimated here steadily…”

Will felt his brow raise slightly as he examined Hannibal like he was seeing him for the first time, trying to read past his words, though he didn’t say anything to stop or urge Hannibal on as the other paused for a moment, apparently contemplating as he looked out the windshield.

“We met there, I a professor of Literature, and you were easily taken under my wing, to be shown the culture and introduced to the school’s workings and traditions that you were not yet accustomed to. I was immediately enamored with you from the moment I saw you, and I believe that I ended up learning more from you than I could ever have taught you.”

Will wetted his lips, words slipping of his tongue. “The best deceptions are created based upon truth.”

Hannibal paused a beat and Will didn’t think he breathed again until he spoke. He could see the man’s hands tightening on the wheel, could almost feel his breath shorten. “Yes.”

With another beat Hannibal continued, his voice still smooth despite his body language, and Will found he reveled in every crack in the exterior even if it cracked Will’s own, dangerous. “We became close personally and professionally, over the space of a few years, and I was afraid to make a move on you, that you may be unwaveringly straight or uninterested in me in that way. I suggested a dinner in a local restaurant, which might be interpreted as anything, and you had agreed.”

Will watched Hannibal swallow and wondered if he could feel Will’s eyes on his face. “We shared our first kiss there, in the booth as you’d had a few glasses of wine. I agonized later, over whether it had been a fluke, but the next day you’d invited me for another date in bumbling though charming words. I proposed to you at the restaurant, three months later after we’d spent many evenings and nights with each other and we were all too eager to move in together, fast and young love shared between us even later in our lives. It has been only two months since then, and we have only just picked out our rings together. I thought you might like to join me at the opera.”

Will swallowed, trying to formulate a response for a moment, but he didn’t trust himself to do so, and any words he might say seemed to be stuck in his throat.

It was _too close_. Too close not to be the truth and it bore down upon Will.

Hannibal glanced at him then and Will finally spoke, not daring to speak about Hannibal’s story but wordlessly accepting it. “And what did you tell them of my scar?”

“I didn’t, though I mentioned that you enjoy hunting. I thought you might convey that you had an accident with a knife.”

“… That seems as appropriate as anything. One simple trip over a branch hidden by the leaves and I had fallen, my knife dislodged and I’d fumbled after it. The knife cut deep.” He caught Hannibal’s eyes as the man glanced over at him again and Will’s heart rate skipped a bit faster for a moment as he dared. “I tore it from my face in panic, aggravating the wound. I called for you and you came, held me and made me makeshift bandages, tried to ease the blood flow and calm me, until help arrived to take me to the hospital.”

Silence, and then Hannibal nodded slowly, his eyes back on the road as he turned a corner in the streets of Paris. “Yes, something like that,” he murmured.

Will took more pride in flustering him, in causing some emotion to seep through his cracks that he’d blown open he than perhaps he should. Perhaps Will should examine that thought in himself further.

Instead his eyes travelled to the street they came upon, the opera house looming in the distance. It looked like a palace of a king, large with its pillars weaved in intricate designs showing what care had been done in its craftsmanship, practically radiating its glow across anything that stood before it. It was quite magnificent, if a bit intimidating.

“Before the opera there will be a gathering, guests coming before the show time in order to socialize and drink in an open room. Then, they’ll be seated for the show. Afterwards, there are more drinks available and many stay in order to discuss the events of the opera or sometimes to showcase its actors and share them with the crowd.”

Hannibal was informing him of this as the car pulled back behind many others, each in line in order to park, men and women in uniforms, valets, relieving the visitors of their vehicles.

Every one of them was dressed as extravagantly and elegantly as he and Hannibal, perhaps some of them moreso. Most of them seemed to be connected with an arm threaded through another’s or a hand at the hip, to a significant other, or perhaps walking side-by-side with a family member or a friend.

“I was not aware that having a valet was still an event that happened anymore.”

Hannibal gave the slightest of chuckles. “We are in Paris, Will, and I believe this is the most famous and historical opera house in the world,” he replied replied, and Will had figured as much. He would never dare to ask the cost of this all. “They are inclined to be traditional.”

Nervousness fluttered in his gut, a small part of it for the grandiosity of it all that Will didn’t belong to it, but most of it for the act he was about to put up in front of such grandiosity. What he was about to proclaim to this group of privileged people.

If any _excitement_ was to be found curling in his stomach, it was difficult to distinguish it from that. That’s what he told himself.

When their car pulled up beside the building, the passenger side faced the large fountain in front of it where Will sat and their valet, a young man, stood outside Hannibal’s side, opening the door for him.

“Hello, sir, Mr. Mikkelsen, it’s a pleasure to have you and your companion here today.”

Hannibal smiled easily, though it wasn’t a full one like Will might have known, and he saw the masks attempt to be placed back over Hannibal’s face, clouding him to the world as he took on his assumed persona.

“And it is a pleasure to entrust my car to you again, James,” he replied, his French as smooth as silk, leaving the keys in the ignition and starting to climb out of it as the man held the door for him.

The kid smiled more brightly at that, nodded as Hannibal got out.

Will thought perhaps he should move and not just stare at them. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he made a move to reach for the door, but as he reached the door was already opening, Hannibal on the other side of it, swinging the door open and then extending his hand for Will to take.

He looked expectant as Will stared up at him, and Will felt his gut tied up in knots. Hannibal was his _husband_. That was all. _He could do this_.

Taking a deep breath, Will took Hannibal’s hand, his elegant and yet strongly precise fingers warm in his own, and allowed the man to pull him out of the car, their hand still linked between them as Will realized James was standing before them.

“This is my husband, Alec,” Hannibal introduced, and Will’s mind focused on the way Hannibal’s accented voice curled around the word as he was looking at Will as if testing their first attempt at an introduction. “My usual valet, James Grandt.”

The young man vowed his head slightly and Will at least managed to disentangle his grip from Hannibal’s hand in order to shake the other’s hand, trying to keep his grip strong.

“It’s very lovely to meet you.”

“You as well,” Will replied, swallowing before he retracted his hand.

His French was less practiced but still quite adequate after college classes and a long practice in the country, no longer an issue for him, except for his accent, immediate proof for others that he didn’t belong there, that he was foreign.

“I hope you two have a wonderful time at the opera.” With another smile, seemingly determined to get on with his job, the valet turned away from them to get into the driver’s seat of their car.

Looking back at Hannibal, Will hesitated only a moment before he acted, aware that any number of eyes could be watching from a distance at any time and remembering the behavior he’d observed earlier. He reached out to push his arm under Hannibal’s elbow as he moved beside him, feeling only the slightest tense in Hannibal’s muscles, not much able to betray anything else, before his companion’s arm relaxed to be easily linked with his.

Will’s shoulder pressed slightly into Hannibal’s as he leaned ever so slightly in his direction.

“Let us go inside.”

They walked forward like that, joined, around the water in order to arrive at the entrance, where the others were heading, aside from a few engaged in conversation or admiring the dress of other attendees.

Will could only think that they must look quite a pair there, the two men in their maroon and darkened blue suits, their arms fitting together so easily as they leaned into each other, rings shining bright with the sunlight over them, proudly projecting their commitment to each other, and their eager intimacy, for all who looked to see.

Will with his scar across his face giving him a mysterious air perhaps, the only thing unfitting in his well-tailored suit, and Hannibal attached to him, looking for all the world as if he visited this opera every week with his husband on his arm, even if this was his first time showing him here.

It was too fitting and it seemed useless for him to will that thought away.

A few looked in their direction, Will noticed, curious eyes glancing at them or following them.

However, no one seemed to recognize Hannibal until they had gone inside. Andrius Mikkelsen, though surely just as charming, was not as well-known and extravagant as Dr. Hannibal Lecter had been before. He was a literature professor, even if one in the beautiful city of Paris.

This thought barely had time to be scratched however, as Will observed the space ahead of them. It was large and _glowing_ , the ceilings tall and just as beautifully designed as the outside, the room buzzing with activity and words, a sea of people gathered around each other with drinks, laughing with each other as they retrieved champagne and hors d'oeuvres from waiters and tables, the different colors and elegance of their suits and dressed decorating the room.

Will hardly had time to process it all before a sudden exclamation called their attention and both men stopped in their tracks after they’d entered.

“Mr. Mikkelsen! Oh, Mr. Mikkelsen.”

Will saw that it was an older woman bounding forward at a surprising speed towards them, dressed in a long blue dress, holding onto a man, presumably her husband, in a simple black tux, whom she was practically dragging along with her, each of them holding a glass in their other hands.

The woman beamed as she approached, eyeing Hannibal and quickly releasing her husband to shake his hand. “Oh, it is so wonderful to see you, and you brought your _husband_ … Oh my, he is quite handsome, isn’t he?”

Just as quick as she was there, Will found himself shaking the woman’s hand in turn, facing her observant and excited energetic gaze. “It is so lovely to meet you. I am Jane Laurent, and this is my husband, Charles.”

“Alec,” Will replied after a beat, quite overwhelmed by the woman, though not completely unpleasantly. He thought it could be much worse.

The woman smiled brighter. “Oh, Alec, dear, a great name, Hannibal has told us so much about you… how wonderful you are…”

Will felt his chest tingle as the woman beckoned to her husband.

“Oh, Charles! Don’t be rude. Greet these young gentlemen, why don’t you?”

Called to attention, the man seemed slightly exasperated and yet he still greeted Hannibal and Will in turn, murmuring his well wishes to them.

Jane nudged him with an elbow. “I’m out of champagne, might you get some more for me? And two more for our friends, too…”

“Jane—”

“Please, Charles, I’d like to catch up with them…”

“Can’t they get their own drinks—”

After a moment of further bickering, too quick for Hannibal or Will to interrupt the situation, Charles seemed to give up and took her glass, heading off into the crowd.

“Oh, my deepest apologies for his manners, he’d much prefer to spend his time at home, though he loves the opera itself.”

Hannibal shook his head with a slight smile. “There’s no need to apologize. I believe we can handle ourselves against him.”

She chuckled lightly as she nodded, looking back and forth between them before she spoke.

“Might I just say that you both look exquisite in your suits? I didn’t believe you when you said how beautiful your husband was, Andrius, but now I must reconsider. He is _striking_ …”

Will couldn’t help the ghost of his smile from passing over his lips. “Thank you, that’s… very kind of you,” he tried.

The woman shook her head slightly, but still smiled. “No, you two are absolutely adorable together. I can see exactly how you fit in here and with each other.”

 Will realized he was still standing close to Hannibal, the length of his arm still pressed against him, appropriately close.

“Thank you very much. You are certainly looking ravishing tonight, as you usually are,” Hannibal replied, to which the woman laughed brightly again.

Will curled his hand around Hannibal’s, just to test the sensation, for a moment delighting in the barely audible intake of breath from the man and how the fingers curled around his in return.

“He is quite a charmer.” Jane looked at Will knowingly, as if sharing a secret and Will smiled back politely in agreement.

“Now, I must ask, not to sound rude,” she said, her brows drawing together slightly as she looked to Will, “though I am wondering, dear Alec, how you have hurt your face like that…?”

Will blinked at that suddenly and he was grateful for Hannibal’s reply.

“He had a hunting accident, I’m afraid.”

“A hunting knife,” Will continued, “I unfortunately fell and it… went through most of my cheek. I was lucky my husband was around then, to save me.”

She smiled at that. “Of course he was, I’m so sorry for that, dear…”

Will shook his head, trying to determine something appropriate to say. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, well, if it’s any consolation then, I think it makes you look quite... dangerous, now, imposing. I think it adds to your appearance. You’re still handsome in any case. You are both very lucky.”

Will allowed some of the tension to drain from his shoulders, nodding his thanks.

“So…” She seemed to settle a slight amount, though it still seemed as if this was her source of all excitement. “You have never been to the opera before? It’s the perfect place for a date, especially one after having been married. It’s a beautiful building, what do you think of it so far?”

Will nodded. “It’s—it’s honestly all very overwhelming to me, but very pleasantly,” he replied, attempting to elicit some of the truth in order to make his speech more genuine.

She nodded. “It is, it is, but you’ll get used to it over time. There is a lot to be discovered and you have each other to navigate it…”

She paused as Charles returned, awkwardly holding four champagne glasses in his hands.

“Oh, thank you so much…”

She quickly took two of them from his hands and offered them to the two men, who took the glasses with a small thanks.

“I was just telling them what a beautiful couple they make…”

Charles examined them both briefly and after a look from Jane, nodded slowly. “Yes… very nice.”

Pleased, Jane was excited to continue their conversation. “And you must know what the opera is tonight, don’t you two? Oh, Andrius, I know you have been so excited for it…”

The conversation went along like that, and mostly the opera and then apparently Dante were discussed based upon Jane’s enthusiasm in getting Will to know Hannibal’s most favorite operas and literature as if he might not already know. Hannibal mostly took over to conversation for them both, as he’d promised Will earlier, though Will spoke when prompted or when appropriate, not finding stress in the particular conversation, even if it stretched on for far too long. He held onto Hannibal’s hand for the entire time, aware of it most of all, a tingling warmth spreading from the contact, as the group slowly sipped at their glasses of champagne, which left a slight warmth in Will’s gut.  The man had even held his hand up for the others to see when she’d asked them of their rings so she could gush about that as well.

“…. Anyway, I’m keeping you here, everyone else will be wanting to talk to you all, to meet Alec!” Jane was telling them eventually.

Hannibal huffed a light chuckle but he nodded. “I suppose so, though it has been pleasant talking with you, I’m sure we’ll bump into each other another time.”

Then Jane and Charles shook their hands a final time and they had finally parted from each other, much to the old woman’s clear reluctance.

“We could have been there all afternoon,” Will commented to Hannibal once they’d left the area.

“Indeed we could have been.”

“I’m certain there could be worse ways, however.” The conversation had assured Will’s doubts slightly, even if he doubted any other interactions would repeat it.

And certainly they did, a few people briefly recognized Andrius as they travelled, and shook his and Alec’s hand as they moved around, a few speaking for a moment, but not lingering that much beyond a few simple, polite inquiries on how they were enjoying the afternoon.

Mostly, Will marveled at how easy it had become to stand at Hannibal’s side, to be his husband, and he had to remind himself with a forceful thought that they weren’t actually married, that all of it wasn’t meant to be real.

Oh, but it was all far _too real_ , though, every small touch and the way they linked arms or held hands, brushed shoulders and spoke together.

Soon they had arrived in another group of people, a couple in their 30s, Mr. and Mrs. Moreau, and their friends, a group of men and women of varying ages who seemed to know of Andrius well, as they were all introduced.

They seemed to look at Will with a deep surprise, their gazes stuck on him uncomfortably judging the lines of his face.

“I cannot believe you actually brought your husband here, Mr. Mikkelsen, I was beginning to think he’d never want to make it to the opera with you,” Mr. Moreau was saying.

“I was beginning to think that your husband didn’t exist in the first place.” His wife chuckled as she continued and Will’s grip on Hannibal’s shoulder tightened minutely. “After you didn’t even chose your rings until now…”

“It was an important decision,” Will found himself saying, his skin suddenly prickling with discomfort at their words, at the idea that what they had was fake (even though it _technically was_ ), “And we wanted to choose them appropriately. Besides, the rings are not everything.”

Hannibal shifted beside him just slightly and nodded. “We have found ourselves connected in a far deeper manner than that, and there hasn’t been a hurry, though I supposed tonight might be time for us to share it with the public…” His hand brushed against Will’s, almost like he wanted to assure him, though it did little to cool down the temperature of the room, which had gotten a bit hot and stuffy.

The couple listened to Hannibal and nodded, holding hands themselves. “Yes, I suppose so, we are happy to see you here… We were about to pawn you off to my cousin.”

“You seem to have avoided being matched with me then,” said the cousin, someone Will remembered having been named Angeline of Angélique. “Now that your husband is here and real. It’s a shame, I thought we could have gone well together.”

The group laughed in apparent good-humor and even Hannibal managed a small huff of what was clearly, to Will, a forced chuckle.

Will felt his blood run hot. Anger, maybe, and he spoke more willingly than any of his simple introductions or speaking-when-spoken-to the whole afternoon. “Well, I’m afraid, I’ve already had him for a while now. He’s all mine and not for the taking.”

His hand was around Hannibal’s hand then, squeezing him only slightly and he could have sworn that he heard the man swallowing beside him, if he hadn’t been so focused on the group in front of him, who actually _laughed_ at that, apparently funny to them as well.

And Will supposed they should, he couldn’t cause a _scene_.

But…

In his rush of discomfort and sudden feelings upon the topic, the air around them suddenly to thick, Will realized that he was _jealous_. He was being jealous over Hannibal, over the mere _suggestion_ that anyone else might even suggest that they wanted the man as their own, that they could be interested in him, or in any way that Hannibal was not _Will’s_.

There wasn’t even much to be jealous about in the first place, just a few stupid remarks from _rude_ and clearly unintelligent people.

Will was being jealous over a man that wasn’t even _really_ his in the first place.

Then again…

_Was Hannibal not his?_

The group continued to talk around him, their voices suddenly overwhelming with all the noise in Will’s head, his conflicted thoughts at war with each other, his sudden revelation stunning him, tension in the air too thick then, his desire to have Hannibal away from these people suddenly overwhelming him alongside his own anger. Anger at the group in front of them and then at himself for having felt that in the first place.

He downed the remains of his drink quickly, though it did little to ease anything.

“Have you ever been to an opera before, Alec, or do you mainly hunt?”

One of them was looking at Will with inquiry in her gaze.

He tugged, just gently at Hannibal’s arm, to get his attention, to portray his distress, until he was peering at Will, who could read the question behind his eyes.

He was grateful Hannibal had read something there because the man was speaking for him. “No, this is actually his first time, and I believe are defiantly in need of another drink.” He smiled, thin-lipped. “My deepest apologies to you all, but I would really wish to show him the rest of the room. I hope you will excuse us and our rudeness.”

Mr. Moreau shook his head, gesturing in the direction of the tables with drinks upon them at the side of the room. “Of course, we won’t deny you some time alone with another drink…”

“Thank you.” Hannibal nodded and Will allowed himself to be dragged along by the arm in that direction, away from prying ears.

“Are you alright?”

Hannibal’s voice tickled his ear, resonating deep as he spoke close and they came up to the table, food set out on it in front of them.

_Is Hannibal in love with me?_

Will breathed in a deep breath, Hannibal suddenly so close and all around him even if he had been the entire afternoon thus far. He could be Will’s, some voice said in the back of his mind.

“Just overwhelmed, I’m fine. Too much conversation,” Will lied, speaking too quickly and pulling himself from Hannibal’s arm, the man causing his thoughts to spiral even further away from him.

He sighed deeply and carefully didn’t meet Hannibal’s gaze. “I really do need another drink.” He gestured to Hannibal’s still half-full glass. “I’ll be right back, don’t worry about me.”

Only the slightest spark of guilt prodded at Will before it was drowned out by everything else and he turned away from Hannibal, walking a rapid pace over to the area with filled glasses of champagne. Will deposited his glass and took another, only realizing just then that his hands shook slightly when the gripped the stem tightly.

He took an inelegant sip of it and closed his eyes as he leaned against the table, trying to breathe and drown out the background noise, sort out his racing thoughts.

It was impossible. It was too loud in the room and buzzing thoughts he’d buried deep surfaced only on this night prodded his brain.

“…Did you meet Alec Mikkelsen…?”

Will’s eyes opened as he recognized the name, heard near him.

“… can’t believe he’s his _husband_ …”

Will looked behind him, his view obscured behind a few servers and staff behind him, other groups quietly drinking wine, but he focused in on the conversation, overhearing a few of the words, though it was enough.

“… honestly don’t think Alec… his husband,” someone was saying and Will gripped the table harder as he strained to hear.

“They’re practically opposites…”

“Probably faking just so he couldn’t be set up…”

“… hoping he wouldn’t be taken…”

“Did you see the scar on his face? Hideous… Who would chose him…?”

“There’s no way Mikkelsen would…”

“It I knew he was gay, I would’ve set him up with my brother Lucien.”

“Oh!” A bought of excitement rushed over the group and Will could see it in their body language, the animation of their arms. “He really wanted to meet him…”

Will wondered if the glass in his hand would shatter if he squeezed it harder than he already was, his knuckles growing white, though he couldn’t stop listening.

A chuckle animated from a woman in the group. “Oh, I think he is getting his chance…”

“What?”

“Look! By the table over there…”

Will turned his head suddenly, his eyes searching until they came upon the unique maroon shade of Hannibal’s suit as he leaned against a table, facing another man, who wore a brighter blue suit and a light colored tie.

“You’re right!”

“Ooh, he’s working the magic…”

They were standing too close together. Perhaps Will imagined it but the man—Lucien, stood close to Hannibal as he spoke, his arms out and gesturing as he was saying something Hannibal was listening to, leaning into him more than might be considered friendly.

It was probably nothing, a distant voice might have said but Will didn’t hear it at all. He heard the others talking again.

“Do you think he could go home with him...?”

“… Don’t think Alec would notice, he’s just… getting drunk somewhere…”

Something in Will broke as the group laughed then, his anger, his jealously boiling.

_Fuck them. Fuck everything._

He’d show them that Hannibal was _not theirs_ , not for the taking, not belonging to this man who caused Hannibal to give a slight smile in response as the other deigned to lean forward towards him. They wouldn’t have him.

Hannibal was _his_ to take, if he were anyone’s.

Will set his glass down carelessly, still filled with a bit of champagne that sloshed up to the edges almost dangerously, and he stalked over to where Hannibal and his would-be suitor were standing in front of the table, his face marked with intent before he could even think through what he was going to do.

Lucien’s eyes immediately snapped to him and he must have looked anything but calm because he saw the surprise slip through Hannibal’s eyes, past his façade as he his slightly widened eyes focused upon Will.

“Hello, darling…” Will all but purred as he approached.

“Wi— _Well_ , Alec, I—”

Hannibal’s flustered beginning of speech was cut off as Will’s hands gripped tightly at the lapels of his suit jacket, surely wrinkling the expensive material. He pressed his lips with a claiming force against the other man’s, not giving him time to react, pushing him back with intent against the table behind them for all who might be looking to see.

For effect, or rather, on instinct, he urged his tongue between Hannibal’s surprised and parted lips as he kissed him hard and deep, _possessive_ , his arms moving to curl around Hannibal, to grope at his back and even the swell of his ass beneath soft fabrics, pressed up against him while the other’s back dug into the table.

It all happened so quickly, and Will sensed the soft noise that was swallowed through his mouth from Hannibal, a quiet breath of a moan, and he tasted Hannibal everywhere, his tongue through his lips, soft and moldable lips he now knew the feel of, his shared breath, the solid and _real_ warmth of the man up against him and under his hands where he felt him. He could feel _it_ like something tangible, the pure want and need that radiated from Hannibal, through their shared breath, in the way his lips moved against Will’s after his initial surprise, in the hand that slowly moved to rest up against Will’s back, and if he were able to see much past the moment he might have noticed Hannibal’s other hand, which had clutched the back of the table behind him too tightly with tension.

And Will _wanted_. Will wanted Hannibal.

He wanted with such intensity that it burned through his skin like a revelation, like the answer to some question he’d always known the answer to, only hadn’t taken it, hadn’t allowed himself it.

But, he wanted Hannibal. He wanted Hannibal to be his. He knew Hannibal wanted him.

Bedelia’s words tore through his very heart in that moment. _Yes… Do you ache for him?_

His core ached more deeply than it ever had as something was spilled inside him and he had to stop himself from doing anything further and breaking their cover, to physically tear his mouth away from the Hannibal’s, nearly forgetting the crowd around them who had all witnessed his sudden assault upon his husband after he’d only been speaking to someone alone for a few short moments.

His gaze met Hannibal’s as he pulled his head back, watching as those inscrutable darkened eyes searched Will’s for an answer he couldn’t give him then, both their lips still parted as they searched for breath that became more difficult to find.

Will’s hands trailed down Hannibal’s sides as he stepped back slightly, Hannibal’s hand, knuckles tinted a lighter color, finally releasing itself from the table he’d been thrown back against.

“I… I’m glad you’re getting along with… the guests…” It took a while for Will to be able to speak again and his voice wavered slightly in lingering want that shook him, almost hoarse as it deepened.

Hannibal swallowed thickly as Will’s fingers smoothed down the front of his suit briefly before unlatching from him completely. “Indeed I am… Though it is much more pleasant now that you are here, dear husband.” He too seemed to find speaking normally again more of a challenge. “Perhaps you would like to meet Lucian? He’s been kind enough to introduce himself and shares my passion of the Opera.”

It was only then, with Hannibal’s words bringing him back to the present, that Will seemed to remember that others had watched them the whole time and he turned to find Lucien, standing there beside him, his mouth open in slight surprise and his eyes a bit wide.

Will affixed him with a deliberate look, holding out his hand, which the other man took almost hesitantly, awkwardly, much to Will’s delight, which surprised him, a shiver up his spine. “It’s good to meet you, Lucian. I see you have already met my husband.”

“Yes… I-… Yes. Alec, it’s an honor. I can see that he is… very lucky to have you. You both are.”

It was clear he’d gotten the message and Will nodded.  “I’d have to agree with you.”

He didn’t have to look closely at the people in the distance to know the group had been watching, seeing only a few cast glances their way, attempting to be discreet, others still gaping slightly. They all know What Will had done, and they’d all seen how Andrius belonged to Alec rightfully. How Hannibal was his.

It was hard to shake the deep heat of satisfaction that rose through him, and he thought that he shouldn’t be there much longer, not if he wanted to break many other social norms and continually draw attention. He’d made his point.

“Well, I wish we could chat, but this is a very special night for my husband, and I’ve hardly had a chance to speak with him all evening. If you would… excuse us,” Will bid the other, and it might have been an entirely rude response carrying even further implications, though the bitter words attempted to be drawn politely through his tone, and Lucian only nodded and stepped aside.

“Please do. I wouldn’t want to disturb your evening.”

Will felt Hannibal’s presence by his side and looped his arm through his. The contact seemed at the same time reassuring as it had been all night and yet added a tension to Will’s gut, a desire for more touch, felt even through the arms of their sleeves.

“Thank you.”

Will leaned into Hannibal as he led them away, past a few others who allowed them to walk past without a word, blending back in with the crowd on the other end of the room. Though he didn’t say anything, Will felt Hannibal resting against him, leaned ever so slightly in Will’s direction. He could feel the unspoken questions more than ever, as if they whispered between the two men as they walked through the crowds, begging to be asked and answered, wanted between them.

Hannibal spoke eventually, and Will was relieved by his words. “The opera will start soon, so we might head to our balcony.” He didn’t want to be among all of these people anymore, and he’d proven to them already what he’d thought of them.

He nodded, catching Hannibal’s eyes for a moment. “I would like that.”

It seemed a few others were moving from the room and over past doors in order to be seated, and they followed in their direction.

But then, Will felt Hannibal’s pace, which had been synced along with his falter slightly as the older man watched the crowd, focusing on something and diverting his course slightly. Will didn’t have time to question anything before they were being led to a tall man, whose attention was drawn to Hannibal.

“Dr. Altimari, what a pleasure to see you here,” Hannibal was saying as soon as they approached

“Oh, Mr. Mikkelsen, it is nice to see you here. I’m glad you made it. With your…” His deep voice trailed off as his dark eyes fell on Will. Instantly, Will could feel the distaste radiating from him, something else along with it, dark and immediately to Will’s disliking. He wasn’t one of the people here, Will knew instantly. He was one of a different nature.

“My husband, Alec, yes. He wished to be introduced to you.”

The man’s scowl deepened then, at the word _husband_ , apparently not to his liking. “Your husband. Yes.”

“Good to meet you,” Will’s voice felt forced and he had to reach to shake Altimari’s hand when he held it out, the grip to tight and wrong.

“Mr. Altimari owns many of the hotels in the area. He’s quite the successful businessman, and I find myself… _lucky_ to be his acquaintance…” There was something else in Hannibal’s tone too as he deliberately looked to Will when he spoke, as if there was something he was communicating with Will beyond the other man, trying to tell him something.

Will’s mind raced with possibilities as Hannibal continued to speak with the man, who sent Will a few cursory glances with displeasure still, as he described the various significances of his successful business, how he’d built it all himself and other things Will found to be quite boring and pretentious in nature. Still, there was something _else_ , something dark and predatory about him, beyond his apparently traditional views, his general air of condescension towards them both.

And Hannibal had wanted them to speak specifically, after they’d been trying to leave.

The thought continued to run through Will’s head as they finally parted from the unpleasant man as the show would start soon, and they walked together down the hall to be sorted into the balcony Hannibal had received for them.


	3. Chapter 3

The private balcony that the pair was ushered to seemed smaller than Will might expect, but beautifully decorated in a dark maroon velvet coloring as it overlooked the grand stage and seating area below, ornate it its beautiful decoration, the chandelier over the designs of the ceiling lighting it up, something straight out of a fairytale. It was a grand stage, too, dark curtains overhanging it, something fit for royals, something from centuries ago and seeming not to belong here and now. Will had to stop for a moment, even after all that had happened that evening, to admire it, his gaze following the people as they were guided to their seats, a soft melody, something gently somber, already echoing in his hears from the pit orchestra far below. It was quite the sight from the vantage point up on one of the balconies and he couldn’t help but stare and take it all in.

“Do you like it?”

He turned to see Hannibal standing next to him, bringing him back to the present. The other man was clearly pleased to see Will admiring it, the slightest of smile in the curl in the edge of his lips, shown more in the creasing of his eyes as Will had learned to spot it, additional hope in his gaze as he bid Will for his honest answer, as if he wanted to know if Will had enjoyed his invitation here.

“It’s wonderful,” Will could only respond as he gave a small smile, his chest aching further, “Really, it is.”

“I’m very glad you like it. I had much the same reaction, I think, on my face.” The wrinkles around Hannibal’s eyes deepened a bit more genuinely as he gave a small chuckle.

He allowed Hannibal to gesture to one of the two red velvet chairs there, next to each other in the small space, and Will took his place in the right one with a small nod. He didn’t realize how close the chairs were until Hannibal sat in the one opposite, his arm so close to Will’s as it rested over the arm of his chair.

“I feel like I’ve entered into some fantasy, some mask of reality, like I’m not allowed to touch anything here, as it might… break apart,” Will said, rubbing the intricate swirling design at the wooden arm of the chair gently with his fingertips.

Will watched the side of Hannibal’s face as he was admiring the room himself, and he hummed. “I admit, myself, that it is a bit much. Though we have done our best to play our part, and it can be… pleasant, to indulge in fantasies. Even if they are far away from our reality.”

That brought a thoughtful furrow to Will’s brow though he nodded, his gaze drifting to the chandelier above them. “I suppose, though they can at times be close to reality, only in different ways. As you said, truth makes for the best lies.”

He felt Hannibal’s eyes studying him then. “Of course, fantasies are based upon realities that we do not have for ourselves... They can be grand and fantastical and they contain all that we could want within them if constructed how we wish. Even then, I suppose they can be a form of our own reality. Reality could be viewed through those lenses, every person’s something different, without which the world would be uninteresting. In that way fantasy is a reality for certain people, and reality is something we can never reach or reconcile ourselves with. I’m afraid, I have a tendency to see reality through certain fantasies…”

It was very easy for Will to shift his hand slightly, his hand resting on Hannibal’s forearm, with how close they were. And they’d been touching arms, hands, all evening. Still, Hannibal stopped talking as Will did so, perhaps finished with what he was saying or perhaps just not needing to continue his rambling then as Will understood.

It seemed Will had all too much on his mind, too much to think about from the evening, rolling around in his head. Though, everything was connected to one thing really, all his thoughts were the same one.

Will knew what fantasies Hannibal had, of ideas now painful to him, running away together, lost families and offers Will had refused and rejected many times before. It had been forgiven, they had both forgiven each other for so much. Even the dragon, seemed a fantasy to Will now, a fairytale, some fevered dream. Yet still, it always seemed to linger. The desire for it lingered. It was unspoken, all unresolved. It needed to come out.

Will took a small breath off the cliff he’d already thrown them both over. “What fantasy did you imagine for Dr. Altimari?”

He met Hannibal’s gaze as it focused on his, trying to read through the depths of it. There was too much uncertainty there, though Will hadn’t meant it as an accusation. His fingers rubbed gently over Hannibal’s sleeve.

“I believe that he uses his enterprise in order to engage in human trafficking,” was the answer Will received, though it wasn’t an answer to all of his question.

It wasn’t surprising to Will. He wasn’t going to ask where Hannibal had gotten that information from. He knew Hannibal would have his way, would have known as soon as he met the man that he was something of that sort. “You knew that I would realize something about him. You wanted me to meet him, you went out of your way for us to speak.”

“Yes.” Hannibal’s voice was quiet though he didn’t deny it. Will almost wished he’d say more.  He had to carry on the conversation himself.

“You haven’t hunted since we left.” It wasn’t necessarily a question because Will knew the answer, and he could see the answer in Hannibal’s face before he responded.

“I haven’t, no.”

“Will you take him now?”

Hannibal didn’t answer, his eyes only watching Will’s, as much of a mask as he could put up in front of Will visible, his face almost neutral.

Will could feel his own heart pounding in his chest and he held tighter to Hannibal’s arm, though it didn’t seem to assure either men, the air thick between them. He opened his mouth to ask it, questions that had been begging to be released.

“Would you stop?”

There was a beat of silence as Hannibal swallowed, though his response didn’t falter afterwards. “If you asked that of me.”

Will blinked, almost in surprise, though it shouldn’t be surprising. It really shouldn’t anymore, but his heart sped up even faster. It was hard to believe he was actually saying the things he was saying, that they were talking about this now.

“I wouldn’t ask that of you. I wouldn’t,” Will responded too quickly, with too much certainty, knowing the honesty in his words as soon as he said them. There was no way he wanted that for Hannibal. That wasn’t who Hannibal was and it certainly wasn’t who _Will_ was. It wasn’t who they were, not after Will had realized it, after the Dragon. Will knew who he was now, who he had become now, after Hannibal had revealed him to himself. He only had to realize it.

Hannibal still studied him, his gaze one that was far too awed for its own right, the indescribable expression it took on in Will’s presence which Will couldn’t look away from. Will continued to press on.

“It isn’t necessarily someone who you would pick, Hannibal. Dr. Altimari. He’s not exactly your choice, is he?” Will didn’t wait for an answer, it was rhetorical and if he stopped talking for a moment he might lose his will to continue speaking. “He’s someone I might chose. You chose him—” He watched Hannibal’s face and focused on letting out an even breath. “You chose him for me.”

Hannibal’s lips parted slowly to answer. “I did,” he confirmed.

Will nodded. The thing between them, the air there, felt as if it might combust any moment. Hannibal was so close to him and his skin would be warm, underneath the layers of cloth Will’s hand clutched onto.

Will shouldn’t be alright with any of what Hannibal was confirming for him, and he wouldn’t have been long ago. But, now, he just let it be. He let himself want it. It was too hard not to want it, what Hannibal was offering him. He didn’t want it to matter anymore. He didn’t care about what he should do, he was done with that, so tired of it.

For some reason, his own thoughts made him chuckle, just a hint of a breath as it escaped his lips. “There are some others you introduced me to who I might have chosen instead,” he couldn’t help but quip. He didn’t know how much of a joke his dangerous words were, but he found it still didn’t matter.

Hannibal smiled lightly in response. “You certainly had a message to give to them, Will.”

Will licked his lips unconsciously, though he was aware of it when Hannibal’s eyes nearly strayed to them. “I believe Lucian and many of the others… had developed a liking to you,” Will responded quickly. “They did not like me.”

Hannibal was uncharacteristically silent for a moment as they both pondered Will’s answer. “It is foolish, Will, for you to be jealous of him.” Of course Hannibal knew. “As I am already yours.”

Will found that suddenly there was no breath for him to take in, and his gaze searched Hannibal’s face closely, scrutinizing and looking.

“Bedelia said that you were in love with me.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, but it was one, his tone surprisingly even enough to allow the words to be spoken clearly, words he’d meant to say for so long now. Perhaps, distantly, he might have been aware that the beginning act of the opera was starting, but he wasn’t conscious of it.

He couldn’t name the look upon Hannibal’s face. “She was always very perceptive.”

“Was she…?” Will couldn’t help but continue as he swallowed, speaking too quickly after Hannibal had given an answer but not a certainty, and he needed to know for certain—

“Yes. I was in love with you, and I _am_ in love with you,” Hannibal replied, an almost timid smile on the corner of his lips. “To a _ridiculous_ extent, entirely and irrevocably, I am in love with you, Will.”

Will had known the answer. Truly, he realized that he had _known_ it, somewhere deep inside him. Bedelia had told him and even before then, he had known, enough to ask. It was different, hearing it said from him.

He hadn’t told Will before.

In Hannibal’s soft tone, past the certainty of his words and hidden in the small smile, the deep emotions conflicting in his expressive eyes that had flicked briefly down to their hands, the same way his gaze had averted upon the cliff, when he’d told Will it was all he’d ever wanted, Will realized that Hannibal wasn’t doubting his feelings, that instead he was _afraid_. Afraid of Will rejecting him again, of the same uncertainty that Will had been afraid of himself. A desire for intimacy, love, which might not be returned entirely in the same way.

_No._

No, no, _no_. He couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t let Hannibal be afraid of that. He felt it with a sudden fierce possessiveness in his chest, to assure Hannibal of his returned feelings.

It was difficult believing _anyone_ would be in love with Will in the first place, impossible. Much less this man. Much less all that had happened between them, that he would return it, and that it would become nothing short of _everything_.

But here it was, and here it had always been.

Will knew Hannibal and he knew how the man knew him.

Will knew now, he knew what he wanted, how he felt, and it had been there all along. Hannibal had been there all along. He only hadn’t realized it, had denied it, hated it, longed for it, ignored it, and even spent his nights mourning its loss after they’d parted. But he had been so _foolish_. He was done with all that, so fucking tired of it all and the uncertainty hanging over them. Hannibal was right here and real, and _his_ , and he needed to assure him, to allow himself to want him and have him.

Unable to properly say anything, Will moved his hand from Hannibal’s arm and up to his cheek, cupping it gently as Hannibal exhaled a long breath, Will’s thumb gently brushing over his cheekbone, a small scar still here, and Will knew there was a similar one on his own face. His face was warm and his skin softer than expected, so real. Nothing in his world shattered as he did so, like he once thought it might.

Hannibal leaned into his hand, his eyes slipping closed. “I am yours, Will, entirely,” he spoke softly, “If you will have me.” And it was entirely true, Will felt it, in the power his simple touch held over the other man as he realized it, the allowance of it that took Will’s breath away.

In answer, Will leaned across the arm of his chair, cupping Hannibal’s cheek, his other hand moving to rest over Hannibal’s hand on the chair as he kissed him.

It was much more gentle than the first only as it began, their lips pressing together warmly as he felt Hannibal’s sharp inhale, and it was more overwhelming than the first, almost too much and yet not enough. “Yes,” he breathed into Hannibal’s mouth, finally verbalizing his answer, and the other man’s hand clutched his shoulder, coming closer to him as they both leaned over the arms of their chairs. “ _Yes_ , Hannibal, I—” He tried to press closer to the other, to kiss him deeper, and it was difficult to breathe through it all, to speak even more-so. “I _have_ you. I want you… You have _me_ …” he stressed, nipping at Hannibal’s bottom lip as they tried to get closer to each other, their hands clutching for each other in need, wrinkling at fabric as they both grasped it desperately, too far away, awkward between their chairs.

Will _needed_ him. He needed him _closer_. His hands pulled on Hannibal’s suit jacket towards him. “Come here, come…” he breathed through their shared breath.

Hannibal’s lips disconnected from his, for a short moment that felt like much longer, but then Hannibal was out of his seat and in front of Will’s chair, his gaze searching for Will, apparently _coming here_ as Will bid him. Immediately, Will clutched his lapel, another hand around his neck as he pulled the man down over him, kissing him again and tasting past Hannibal’s parted lips, licking the shape of his mouth as he wanted to consume the other man. Hannibal’s hands came forward to brace themselves on either arm of Will’s chair for support, one of his knees getting trapped between Will’s spread legs.

Will felt Hannibal’s moan vibrating deep through him as if it were his own, and he nearly caused Hannibal to topple them both over along with the chair as he pulled at the soft silk shirt underneath Hannibal’s jacket.

“ _Will_ …” His name was a gasp of a breath over Hannibal’s lips that urged him to slow, and he looked up at the man, finally taking him in, enough time to process what was happening, the pure _want_ , like nothing else he’d felt, that ached in his chest throbbing along with the rapid beats of his heart, finally released in a slew of emotion and desire.

The look upon Hannibal’s face, though, was enough to cause him to pause, to freeze him in his place and his heart to skip in its rapid beating. That _look_ on his face, he couldn’t fathom it, the depths of _reverence_ in his eyes overwhelming, rushing through Will’s senses and spreading through him in a rush of heat and emotion. He could feel it all, the devotion of the love, the depth of the need in Hannibal’s eyes, slightly wet around the edges. Hannibal was looking at Will as if he was no less than _everything_ , with awe, as if Will were some God brought down for him to worship.

And Hannibal knelt, his hands resting across the dark fabric of Will’s thighs, so warm through it, and Will could hardly breathe, his own hands draped over Hannibal’s shoulders as he looked down upon him, wondering what might be reflected back in his own gaze, how awed and slack-jawed it too might look.

He felt Hannibal’s hands rub gently, against his inner thighs and he hadn’t realized how hard he had become, until the fingertips slightly brushed against the obvious strain in his pants and he felt himself gasp a soft breath. Hannibal’s touch, the darkened pupils of his reverent eyes, implored Will for permission, they hoped and wanted and _needed_.

“ _Please_ , Will, would you allow me to…?” His words were accented thick and deep with something else that was committed into Will’s memory and he wanted to hear more of. If he wasn’t so focused upon the offer spoken from Hannibal’s lips.

Only a fraction second passed by as he decided, remembering where they were as the balcony obscured Hannibal’s form from the outside, the somber notes of the opera being sung in the distance. He found that he didn’t care about anything at all beyond the man in front of them, where they were not mattering, even if someone might theoretically come here or see them from another balcony at any time. Somehow, the situation, how insane it seemed, how utterly impossible it was, excited him further. He couldn’t possibly refuse, and he didn’t _want_ to, he wanted…

“Yes.” The answer flew from his lips. “God, _yes_ , Hannibal…”

The hands responded instantly to his offer, squeezing him through his pants as he let out a low groan, his fingers wrinkling Hannibal’s suit at his shoulder where he squeezed there. “ _Please_ …” he whispered, barely audible.

Hannibal’s fingers were quickly making work of the buttons and zipper of the French silk pants, and his hips shifted forward involuntarily, though he couldn’t move much in the chair, far too long before the deft fingers were freeing his cock from the fabric of the underwear. Hannibal’s hand wrapped around its thick shape in exploration, his touch still gentle in admiration, easily stroking the sensitive skin.

“ _Will_.” The declaration of the man’s name was a low breath of need in the space between them, said like he’d never heard his name before, never with something so deep; volumes could be filled with the ways in which his voice could curl around the single syllable.

Will didn’t have time to think as Hannibal’s hand wrapped securely around the base of his cock, licking the head between his lips and into his mouth. One of Will’s hands tangled through Hannibal’s hair, his fingers digging into the other shoulder as a deep moan rumbled through his chest, escaping past Will’s lips as he felt Hannibal’s tongue lavishing against his already leaking slit, picking up the pre-come.

“Han…” He had to force his lips closed not to cry out Hannibal’s name as he felt the wet tongue dart out eagerly along the underside of his cock, tracing along the vein there in a way that sent waves of pleasure through Will’s entire body, Hannibal _everywhere_ as his tongue was against his pulse. He might have held Will’s heart in his hand to the same effect.

It was almost too much as he looked down, the sight of Hannibal as he moved down his length, how he carefully sucked and licked and worshipped Will with his mouth’s attention. He resisted the urge to buck his hips forward into the wet warmth as it was enveloping him so quickly, Hannibal’s hand moving from his cock to his thigh so he could so eagerly take it all of him to the back of his throat, swallowing around the length.

Small, helpless noises of pleasure bubbled from the back of Will’s throat as Hannibal’s gaze met his, the wet heat of his mouth surrounding the most intimate part of him, eager to devour Will with some deep care and _need_ , and in that moment, Will had never felt closer to the man. He’d never felt greater pleasure, than being swallowed in the back of the man’s throat. It was so much so suddenly, _too_ much, to feel the desire beneath Hannibal’s gaze, molding with his own, one he’d buried so deep for so long.

“ _Hannibal_ , you’re… I—”

Then, the vibrations of Hannibal’s deep moan through his throat, around Will’s cock, spread through Will’s body like flame igniting him, his fingers tugging too tightly at Hannibal’s hair as he had to shut his eyes, his hips thrusting forward into Hannibal’s throat without much merit as he was trapped between Hannibal and the chair, crying the man’s name as he was coming so suddenly, a deep, white-hot ecstasy as his release rushed down Hannibal’s throat. It happened so quickly in a sudden thick burst as Will’s vision whited out around him, unaware of where they were at that moment, unaware of anything that wasn’t _Hannibal_ all around him. He knew in that moment, that _here_ , some thousands of miles across the Atlantic in a private balcony of an Opera he’d forgotten, sitting in the chair there in a fine silk suit with Hannibal’s mouth around his spent cock, licking and sucking every drop of his release around him like a man starving for a liquid that would bring him life as Will’s soft whimpers of over-sensitized and blissful pleasure filled the air, that this was where he belonged. This was _home_ , wherever it may be. With Hannibal. Together, being with him. It was all that mattered.

“Hannibal…” His voice was a breathless stream of air, tinged with adoration that washed over him so suddenly and fully, his fingers carefully smoothing down the hair he’d disheveled and tugged on too tightly, brushing down the back of his neck and over his shoulders as he met the man’s eyes again, urging him upwards as he watched his tongue swipe over his wet lips to catch any of Will that remained there.

“Come here,” he was requesting for a second time in the past few minutes and he helped drag Hannibal upwards, the man’s knee beside Will’s on the chair as Will brought their lips together. He licked past Hannibal lips to taste himself in Hannibal’s mouth, a quiet shaking noise released through Hannibal’s lips as Will’s hand reached instinctively to his crotch for returned pleasure, only to find softness and sticky, wet fabric.

The past hour or so seemed to hit him then, and Will had to part from Hannibal’s lips because he couldn’t stop the sudden uncontrollable and breathless chuckle from bubbling up through his throat. “We just… that was _fast_ …” He didn’t know if he should be embarrassed for their current location, how quickly he too had been brought to release, or the entirety of it all, but his ridiculous giggles continued and the rumbling of Hannibal’s laughter above him filled his ears and warmed his chest fully, better music than the opera that still continued below them, which the two men were oblivious to.

Hannibal looked so entirely disheveled above him then, his hair sticking up, his suit wrinkled and ruined in so many places where Will had groped at him, his pants wet with his release, his tie unravelling, his face warmed with flushed color as he smiled so fully, his lips reddened, and both of them panted for breath as they laughed. Will doubted he looked much more composed himself, but he thought Hannibal had never looked more beautiful.

“It was…” Hannibal had to add, his voice deep with satisfaction and breathless. “Very fast, Will.”

His hands held onto Will’s shoulder and onto the side of the chair for support as Will held onto him and they kissed again, gentle and lingering.

“No offense, but I don’t want to be here anymore,” Will said and Hannibal’s resounding chuckle was breathed against Will’s lips.

“I don’t either.”

“We really should change,” Will pointed out, his heart lifted and still trying to catch his breath. “… And I’d rather be at home, with you, away from this.”

“Then, love, that is where we shall go,” Hannibal promised, and he tucked Will back into his pants, the two barely straightening their appearance before they left the balcony to go down the stairs and through the vacant halls, other guests still watching and listening to the opera that Will couldn’t name one single line of.

* * *

 

Unbeknownst to the two men, as they leaned against each other, Hannibal’s hand tucked around Will’s waist as Will’s head rested against his shoulder, aware of nothing but each other, Jane Laurent had left the bathrooms in the hallway at that very moment, seeing their backs as they walked in the direction of the exit.

A smile blossomed over her face and she immediately moved to open the door of the men’s bathroom, surprising her husband who stood just beyond it. “Oh, Charles, Charles! Look, look, do you see them?” She practically dragged him into the hallway to watch the two figures retreat down the hallway and turn the corner.

“I knew they wouldn’t be able keep their hands off of each other, oh, what a beautiful couple, young love. So handsome…” The man grumbled his agreement silently as his wife slid an arm through his elbow. “Just like you were, before we were old! How lovely…”

She chattered on to be shushed by another patron as the old couple entered back into the auditorium.


	4. Chapter 4

After they’d acquired the car back from the surprised and slightly flustered valet, the ride back to their home, while short, seemed to last a long time to Will. He didn’t say much and neither did Hannibal, seemingly frozen until they could resume with each other in the familiar place, where they could touch and freely be.

It was difficult, Will found, not to be touching Hannibal in the car, though once they were on the road, Hannibal’s hand came off the wheel to rest between them, open for touch with his palm to Will, as if he knew what the other needed, as if he needed it too. Will took the hand and twined their fingers together, rubbing his finger over the metal of Hannibal’s ring as he looked down at their hands, resting them over the center console.

He watched the profile of Hannibal’s face openly, the hint of a smile in the man’s eyes as Will squeezed his hand settling warm in Will’s stomach.

“Will you keep in on? After tonight, I mean.”

Hannibal’s hazel tinted eyes glanced over at Will. “Of course,” he answered, “I never want to take it off, Will.”

He smoothed a thumb over Hannibal’s knuckles. “Neither do I.”

That was all they had spoken out loud to each other in the car, the warmth between them growing though it wasn’t long until they were back to the house and out of the car, and when they arrived back at the door it was Will who grabbed onto Hannibal’s hand first, leading them inside the house, down the hall and towards their bedrooms in unspoken agreement.

“Would you like my room or yours?” Hannibal asked.

“Yours,” Will responded and they slipped inside the room.

Will loosened his own tie as they crossed the threshold to stand in front of the bed, Hannibal facing him as they stood there, fiddling with one of his sleeves.

Will chuckled, reaching out to hold one of Hannibal’s hands in his own, looking down at it as he carefully undid the cufflink from the fabric, before he moved to take Hannibal’s other hand and do the same, the man easily compliant with Will’s gentle, non-intrusive touch.

“What is funny, Will?”

“This is just where we started the evening. Nervously fiddling with each other’s clothing in your room. It’s only the opposite direction now.”

He savored Hannibal’s soft and deep chuckle in response. “I suppose it is. The evening is… filled with many surprises. You are always surprising, Will.”

Will looked up at him, saw the _look_ again, on his face, the one that always halted his breath and saw Will as the most marvelous thing he’d ever experienced in the universe, that Will could never comprehend.

He shook his head. “I’ll try to take that as a compliment.”

He leaned up to kiss Hannibal again, slow and deliberate drag of lips because they were allowed it now, and he felt Hannibal’s hands come up to rest against his back and keep him close. There was no hurry now, with each other. There was no one else here, nothing stopping them or hurrying them, no games or denial, hidden secrets, morality of society, avoidance of who they were or what they felt, no chasing each other around Europe or pact of silence holding Will back. This was only them, here together. They had scars to prove the previous, times they’d broken each other or been broken by others, internal or visible on the skin.

But now was a time for them to be together, finally, to be _free_. Past forgiveness and onto _healing_. Onto _love_. They could heal each other now, and love each other. They would touch each other with care, not with knives, not with intent to hurt or scar or deceive. And there was no hurry.

When the kiss was broken, Will stood back far enough to further untie Hannibal’s bowtie, sliding it from his neck and placing it on a nearby dresser with the cufflinks. Hannibal’s arms moved to allow Will to slide the maroon jacket from his shoulders too, before he started on the buttons of the vest, and then the shirt underneath it.

As soon as the skin was revealed and the shirt discarded, Will’s hand smoothed down the front of Hannibal’s chest, feeling his sudden inhale as the fingers first touched the warm skin and as they brushed past his nipples, exploring down the soft peppering of hair along his abdomen, the muscles that he knew Hannibal had worked back again, after his recovery. He realized somehow that he hadn’t thought of it recently, the fact that Hannibal was a man; it seemed to have gone to the end of some list, the fact that anyone might be in love with him in the first place in the forefront. That it was a man who loved him, a man who Will loved, hardly mattered now. Hannibal was different in every other way to anyone Will might have been with, whatever attempts at normalcy or relationships he’d tried before or embarrassing one night stands. He was so much more, infinitely so. Will didn’t see why he shouldn’t be different in this way too.

Will’s hands wanted to touch everywhere and they smoothed over his soft stomach too, gently ghosting over the ugly scarring where the Dragon’s bullet had gone through, each touch earning him a different hitch of soft breath.

“It does not hurt anymore. It is only a reminder of the past, something to make it real,” Hannibal was saying then and Will looked back up to his gaze.

Soon Hannibal’s hands had cupped the side of Will’s jaw, a thumb smoothing across the crooked and gaping scar across his face, his eyes too deep with admiration. Will’s eyes closed as Hannibal’s face came closer, as gentle kisses were pressed against the scarred tissue and his breath stopped in his chest for a fraction of a second. He knew that was why he always stared at the scar, aside from its ugliness, how he in some way hated it. It was because of the memory, because of that moment to end all moments.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hannibal breathed like his lips had wanted to form the words for too long, though they seemed impossible. So true, though, in Hannibal’s breath, in the depths of Hannibal’s gaze.

And then, “It’s beautiful. That’s what you said that night, about us together.”

“I meant it,” Will replied instantly, freed from so many confessions, his fingers curled against the warm skin of Hannibal’s sides. “It was beautiful. It _is_ beautiful. We were, _you_ are.”

He could feel Hannibal’s breath stopping short, and then for a split second they were back in that moment upon the cliff, clinging to each other in quiet awe. Just as quickly they were back in Hannibal’s bedroom.

Hannibal’s hands reached up to slide off Will’s tie. “It is your turn, then. May I?” he asked, his hands on the front of Will’s jacket.

“Yes, of course. Of course.”

Will’s cufflinks, his jacket, vest and shirt were removed with just as much care, and Will watched Hannibal’s intent face as the other man did so, studied how softened his sharp features had become as they focused on Will.

His lips parted in breath as Hannibal’s warm hands, capable of much careful precision, rubbed over his skin, though it seemed Hannibal had a different way of admiring Will’s chest, and Will felt his pulse race as Hannibal’s lips pressed to the scarring on his shoulder gently, as he peppered kisses across Will’s collar bone. He felt the warm lips press lines down his chest as Hannibal kneeled to do so, worshipping Will with the soft kisses.

He only stopped as he reached Will’s stomach, extra gentle there as he kissed along the scar there, nuzzling against the skin above it almost as if in apology, and when he paused and looked up at Will, the corners of his eyes were wet.

It was difficult for Will to respond anything then, overwhelmed by the depth of the intimacy, so achingly tender, that he could at first only smooth his fingers through Hannibal’s hair where the man had crouched before him.

“I forgave you. I still forgive you,” he assured him once his voice could be found, certain of a need within him to assure Hannibal, to possess him and comfort him. “It’s my favorite, which you gave me,” he told him, bringing Hannibal slowly upwards so that he could kiss him again, on the lips and on his cheek where he kissed away a tear. Hannibal’s hands gripped around his sides tightly.

“I chose you now, and I _have_ you now,” he said as if he could feel Hannibal’s insecurities, his arm curled around Hannibal’s back, fingers moving gently against the place where the Verger brand still marked him, sensitive and surely irritated tissue that Will rubbed, vibrations much like a purr coming from Hannibal.

Will had never felt this before, the intimacy, the craving for touch, something he’d never though he’d want, had never wanted before Hannibal came along. None of this was anything he thought he’d ever get to have, no one could touch him or look at him the way Hannibal could, when Hannibal knew him and saw him, connected with him. He needed it and he wanted it all now, but just then he wondered, he _felt_ , how much Hannibal needed it, as it was the same as his need.

How long had it been since he’d been touched, without clinical or malicious intent, in his years in prison, with anything close to care or intimacy? How long had he wanted this (as long as Will had, the whole time, he might know as the answer), had he craved Will, being known and understood by Will? Had he thought Will wouldn’t return what he needed from him?

Will needed Hannibal to know how he felt, he needed to give that to him, give everything to him, to prove it all to him. It settled fiercely like a pillar within him, curling protectively around the place in his heart in which Hannibal filled, determined to give Hannibal his love.

“Anything, Will. Anything that you want, _everything_. Everything that I can give you, that I have, is yours,” Hannibal offered.

“I want you. That’s all I want. All I _need_. You,” he told Hannibal as if it were the most obvious thing, his fingers curling around the waist of Hannibal’s pants as he watched the man’s gaze stare at him with quiet emotion. “You’re _mine_.”

Hannibal’s hitch of breath, his name breathed in response like a prayer was all Will needed.

His fingers worked open Hannibal’s pants as he kissed him, his lips along Hannibal’s jaw and sucking gently against his neck until Hannibal’s breaths became soft moans of desire.

“All I have to give you is myself, in return,” Will breathed as he pulled down Hannibal’s pants and allowed him to step out of them, Will slowly guiding them in the direction of the bed until Hannibal’s knees hit the frame.

“ _Will_ …” Hannibal’s look met Will’s eyes, deep and blown-wide with answer to the unspoken question as he stood there in his underwear. He’d never heard his name spoken in such a way, like the syllable meant everything in the universe that was worth meaning anything to Hannibal.

Will wanted to give him so much that it overwhelmed him.

His hands couldn’t quite pull down his own pants fast enough and he was hardly out of them before Hannibal’s hands were on him again, pulling Will after him onto the bed.

Their lips dragged together and Hannibal’s fingers mapped out the skin on Will’s back, tangling through his hair and drawing out a small moan from Will, who broke apart, just for a moment, to settle over Hannibal and look down upon his face on the pillow, spread out below Will.

“I love you.”

Had Will not said that yet? He only knew he hadn’t the moment it slipped from his lips.

“I love you, Hannibal,” he repeated again, more _free_ , more _himself_ than he had ever been. Nothing felt better than saying those words and feeling Hannibal’s heartbeat over his palm, just as fast as Will’s, beating with the same tempo, where Will rested his hand against his chest. “I see you. All of you. I _love_ you.”

Hannibal’s fingers curled into Will more tightly as if Will could never be released and he wasn’t able to respond with anything more, his lips parted as he looked up at Will, every emotion written in his face, open for Will to see and know, to feel and take.

He felt the man arch below him as he leaned down to kiss one of Hannibal’s nipples, dragging his tongue over it and feeling Hannibal’s fingers dig into his back and cry out, the response of his body as Will’s other hand felt the muscles over his chest ripple something that Will could feel deep inside himself, something he wanted to feel more of instantly.

He gently pushed his teeth against Hannibal’s other nipple to be given another moan of Will’s name. He gave the same attention Hannibal had to him, kissing everywhere his lips could reach, memorizing every scar and curve, every taste of the skin. He gave everything he could, delighting in every moan, every breath and response of Hannibal below him, so beautiful in his unravelling for Will. It was like Hannibal was everywhere, only for Will to have and no one else and Will wanted to reach every part of him, to declare his devotion in every place that had been hidden beneath so many walls and layers that Will had breached and torn his way past, to reach inside and consume him, feel the man as a part of himself.

He kissed Hannibal’s stomach slowly, feeling Hannibal’s hands push through his hair, finding a grip there firmly as the skin quivered beneath his lips.

He was eager, though he wanted to savor the moment, one that he’d wanted, if he were to admit it, from the very first time he’d met Hannibal, more after he’d known him. He couldn’t wait any longer, though and he gripped the elastic of the underwear, pulling them down as he sat up, straddling Hannibal’s knees and lifting up his own hips to get them off and throw them from the bed.

His erection was free and thick up against his stomach, aching for touch. Will gave that quickly, his fingers wrapping around the shaft and experimentally sliding along the foreskin, as gloriously smooth as silk when his hand guided it and he watched Hannibal’s hips jerk upwards from the mattress into his hand, obscene noises falling from his lips.

“Hannibal. God, you’re so _beautiful_ …” he murmured absently, testing the feel of his hand, foreign to him for only having touching his own before, but so easily learned with the active response of Hannibal’s body, so _good_.

He couldn’t resist tasting the bead of liquid that resting over the tip, dragging his tongue over it and wrapping his lips around the head, successive swipes of his tongue against it causing Hannibal to tremor underneath him, his hips trying to press upwards as Will’s hand pressed him down.

“Will…” Hannibal warned in a breath of a moan before Will sucked down more of the length, the taste and scent of the man filling and overwhelming his senses as he swallowed, Hannibal’s fingers pulling hard and pleasantly at his hair his own moan vibrating up, muffled.

“Will, _please_ …” Hannibal implored him as his cock twitched and leaked in Will’s mouth and he wanted to bring it deeper into his mouth, into the back of this throat, to taste his release there, but not now, reluctantly pulling away, his gaze focusing on Hannibal’s flushed face above him.

He swallowed thickly as he was faced with the desire reflected back in Hannibal’s face.

“Where?” he asked and climbed back up Hannibal, directed to the second shelf down on the dresser where he could pull out a small bottle of lube.

He stopped, as he returned to settle over Hannibal’s thighs, kissing his cheek and then his lips, Hannibal’s hand curled around his neck as they released soft moans through each other’s lips.

“Mhm… hurry up, Will,” Hannibal murmured into the kiss and Will chuckled lightly, smiling widely, elation running through his heated body, merging and melting with his deep emotion and lust, all interchangeable, all the same. All _Hannibal_.

“I will,” he promised, opening the bottle and squirting a generous amount of the cold liquid onto his hand, covering his fingers. He urged Hannibal’s legs apart carefully before positioned it, rubbing just gently across his entrance, not yet pushing inside but feeling the skin respond, Hannibal’s sharp breath that caused Will’s own breath to falter.

“… That is… not hurrying.” The voice was breathless and low.

“Relax,” Will responded back instantly, leaning back in to kiss Hannibal slowly as he pushed in the tip of his finger inside, slowly and carefully, wanting to do it all right, to give slowly and _feel_ every small thing there was to feel. He felt the muscles inside tense and relax against him, _respond_ to Will’s touch as they corresponded to Hannibal’s moans of pleasure, something so intimate in the way Hannibal allowed himself to be opened for Will, in the way they reacted to each other. He swallowed up every one of Hannibal’s delicious sounds through his lips.

Soon, he could add another slicked finger, pressing in further and opening him deeper and deeper still, and he wondered, how deeply he could cause Hannibal to fall apart like this, with just his fingers, his answer in every shift of his fingers that caused another groan, another noise and responsive tightening of Hannibal’s grip around Will. His fingers worked thoroughly and he curled them upwards until he found the place he’d intended to, brushing against the prostate, causing Hannibal to cry out suddenly, his hips pushing down onto Will’s fingers.

“ _Will_ … Will, please, I need… _More_ …”

“I know… I _know_ ,” Will breathed, because he did _know_ , feeling his own need rush through him as he pulled his fingers out, reaching quickly for the bottle again and slipping down his own boxers, not having realized how hard he had become, so focused on Hannibal and his pleasure that it had been forgotten until he poured more lube over his palm, slicking up the shaft.

Just as soon he was back over Hannibal, pushing his thighs far enough apart and resting his hands over his sides, met with another one of Hannibal’s devoted looks, and he thought that he man had never looked more beautiful as he did then, spread out before Will with a soft smile and short of breath, a need for Will written in his eyes; not even when they were covered in the blood of the Dragon and of each other, perched at the edge of a cliff. That was only, he realized, the first moment of many, like this.

He lined himself up and pushed just the tip inside, gasping at the same time Hannibal did, both gripping each other more tightly as Will felt the warm head give around him. He pushed further, slowly yet without stopping, burying himself in it, in Hannibal until he was all the way inside him, for a moment after that, unable to move in overwhelming pleasure, in feeling, in _everything_ all at once. It was almost _too_ much. It was _completion_. He had never been complete until this moment, Hannibal everywhere around him and curled around him tightly, nothing but that feeling. Full and endless.

“Will…” Hannibal hadn’t moved either, frozen underneath him, his world stopped in the same moment Will’s had, the same world. Theirs, together.

Hannibal’s quiet speech seemed to bring Will back, and Will’s fingers reached for his cheek, cupping it and kissing everywhere he could reach. “I’m all yours, Hannibal. _Yours_ ,” he breathed, and then, “You’re _mine_.”

Hannibal cried out as he pulled back to press fully back in, enveloped once again by Hannibal’s heat, and he started a slow rhythm, every thrust deep and all-encompassing, wracking both of them with moans of pleasure that Will couldn’t distinguish between them, all a swarm of their bodies connected as _one_ , finally, together physically, like they’d been mentally, emotionally, spiritually, every way connected here into one moment.

Hannibal’s nails dug and bruised at Will’s back, his legs curling around Will’s back to allow him to drive even deeper with the angle, and they both whispered and cried out each other’s names, a mantra repeated between them.

Will felt every twitch, every convulsion as Hannibal’s body writhed beneath him as if it were his own, attuned to him more deeply than he ever was before, in body and mind, and he increased his pace slowly but surely, angling his thrusts to reach the place that unraveled him. Hannibal broke apart so perfectly there, his moans turning to soft whimpers of Will’s name as he licked and sucked and bit carefully at Hannibal’s neck that craned back for him, _claiming_ and declaring his devotion.

“Love… _love_ you, Will…”

Will moved his head up to Hannibal’s face, catching their lips together, kissed salty tears from the man’s face, his own falling down onto Hannibal’s face. “Hannibal, I _know_ , I love you. Fuck—” It was difficult to speak, to think past the beautiful joining of their bodies, enough to say what he felt, all of it… “..So much… Love you _so much_ …”

His hand moved between them, curling around Hannibal’s cock and tugging with the rhythm of his thrusts, and it wasn’t long before he heard the other man call out his name as his cock throbbed in Will’s hand, spurting quick and hot, suddenly as his muscles clenched around Will, his fingers digging into Will’s back hard enough that it hurt.

Will was overwhelmed with an ecstasy, an orgasm stronger, more satisfying than any he’d ever had before, his hips jerking forward in a final thrust as he spilled deep with Hannibal, _whole_ , in that moment.

He fell forward then, dead weight against Hannibal as his head pressed into the man’s chest, feeling it rise and fall with pants for breath, as he too tried to breathe again. Eventually, slowly, Will felt a hand running through his hair, massaging the skin at his scalp. He felt as if he’d ascended into some other place, where only he and Hannibal existed, sated beyond what he thought possible and with a relief, a peace that filled his very bones, that he’d never felt in all his life before.

He was himself. He _loved_ and he _was loved_. Was that not everything anyone could ever desire?

After an unknown period of time, Will finally shifted, pulling himself from Hannibal with a small groan from the other man, shifting so that he  tuck himself more comfortably atop Hannibal’s larger frame, his arms around him loosely though he didn’t move off of him, unaware of the stickiness that covered them both.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, drowsiness around his tone as he tucked his head against Hannibal’s shoulder, kissing the warmed skin gently as his eyes closed, blissfully exhausted.

“I always was, Will.” He felt Hannibal’s arms around him, a gentle weight to hold Will there atop him. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight… my husband.”

He felt a slight pressure against his forehead, Hannibal’s lips, before he drifted into a dreamless sleep, only aware of the warmth of the man surrounding him as they held each other, where they belonged, in each other’s comfort.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is! I've never written anything that long before! I really hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading!
> 
> At least, you must have enjoyed that artwork! (:
> 
> There were other scenes I had planned for this, but due to time, this was all that got out so... possibly there could be more? Perhaps. If you like it!


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